Four Gates
by blind-alchemist
Summary: AU: Spy vs. Spy.  NiChu.  When you can't trust anyone but yourself, how are you able to love?  Echoes of IggyChu, RoChu, HK x Taiwan, USUK, GerIta, etc.  For Hasegawa.
1. Chapter 1

Summer days in Beijing, no matter how hard he valiantly tried, Kiku could never get used to. The sun beat down on the Japanese soldier's brow, causing him to squint. Today, more so than ever, his thoughts wandered wistfully towards his distant home town of Kyoto, where (in his humble opinion) the humidity could be slightly easier to deal with. Beside him, a couple of his fellow soldiers also started shielding their eyes from the glare of the giant midday sun. His second-in-command, Yong-Soo, suddenly picked up the pace as they patrolled the enormous Beijing park, and he broke into a sweat as he tried to keep up. Yong-Soo was prattling airily about his plans for the weekend, failing to notice how his superior officer's attention began drifting towards a gathering hubbub in the center of the park.

Kiku's gaze halted as the figure of a plump, rotund, furry animal came into view. The panda was wearing a loose collar with a jangly bell attached to it. He rolled about on the ground, beating his paws in the air, occasionally batting at a ball, all in an amusingly silly dance. The crowd around it was going wild, tossing coins and treats in a tight perimeter about the bear, hooting and laughing, though seemingly wary of not growing too obnoxious, for fear of scaring the furry performer away.

Kiku clucked to himself as he started to divert his attention back to Yong-Soo. As he began to turn his heel, he stopped dead in his tracks.

A small, lovely, dancing-girl, decked out in dark red and gold, her long black hair fluttering against her sculpted, muscled back, emerged in front of the bear, who clambered towards her immediately. With one graceful hand, she patted the top of the creature's head, dropping a few sheaves of bamboo, and with the other, she gripped a bamboo staff that looked to be several inches taller than she was.

As the cute bear took the leaves into its mouth, she nudged it towards the safety of the sidelines. The girl took her time walking to the center of the square and waited till the crowd hushed. Taking a deep breath, she started wielding the staff in well-known _Jow Ta_ kung fu forms. The crowd drew more onlookers and started to grow bigger. As the spectators gawked, the girl picked up speed as the forms grew more and more complex and impressive. The staff flew at sharp, perfect, impossible angles, barely missing the eyelashes of a few braver observers who'd tiptoed up to the boundary of coins, and made harsh whistling sounds as it sliced the air,.

Kiku let out a long breath as he recognized 'Five Animals.' The corners of his mouth started to deepen in a slight frown. The stances, the posturing, while fluid and flawless, seemed to him to be a bit off. Then he realized he was not watching a woman wield the staff, but a man.

"Like what you see?"

Kiku whirled around. One of his officers, Gilbert, was grinning slyly at him. Behind him, Yong-Soo was frowning.

"He comes here at the end of almost every week," Gilbert was saying, "and always with that bear. He's very popular around here. Not only does staff, but also swords, and you should see him break out the chains. Sometimes he plays the _Guqin_."

Kiku tried to sound gruff. "Interesting."

"I tried talking to him once, but you know how my Mandarin is. From what I did gather, he's doing this 'to try to keep the old traditions alive.' Maybe he teaches kids on the side, too. Anyway, it's almost time. Shall we go back to the station?"

Gripping his holster, Kiku fought against his subconscious instincts and responded curtly, "Let's."

As they marched, Kiku couldn't help but glance one last time at the young man, who'd finished his performance and was giving another leaf to his already pudgy pet.

It was very sudden. As the soldiers passed, the young man's bright eyes zipped across the city square and locked directly into Kiku's dark ones. Kiku's pulse quickened as he observed those eyes hardening into brittle golden gems. The man's expression changed only an infinitesimal amount, shaping into what resembled a tiny pout.

"Is there something wrong?" Yong-Soo called out.

"I'm right behind you," Kiku answered. He strolled forward, not turning back, strangely feeling the man's golden eyes on him the rest of the way.


	2. Chapter 2

Kiku couldn't focus on his training duties for the rest of the day. He was one of the unit's most popular officers, but he was strangely quiet all throughout mess hall and classes, and he found the other officers' loud and usually entertaining banter barely short of unbearable. When he checked the schedule for Ring 1 patrol of Beijing and saw that he wouldn't be on duty till the day after, he turned around so abruptly he almost knocked over an underclassman.

"You were hoping to see Panda Boy again, weren't you?"

Kiku looked to his left and was startled to find Alfred at his arm.

"Were you talking to Gilbert?" Kiku asked him, without a moment of pretense.

"No. Francis. Word travels fast."

"..." Kiku brushed past him and headed towards the barracks. Alfred dogged him at every step.

"Listen, I get it. Actually a few weeks ago, I asked if he'd take a walk with me. Let me warn you, though, Kiku. That boy is dangerous."

"With that staff, I can't help but agree." Kiku chuckled softly. "Was that the first time you've been turned down?"

"Har, har." Alfred peered intently at Kiku's face. "You're going to go see him again?"

"I appreciate learning about the traditional cultures of wherever we are stationed," Kiku answered coolly.

"Well, that's lovely and all, but if you have a moment, we need to talk business. Follow me."

Kiku did his best to not drag his feet as he trailed after Alfred. He knew this meeting was going to happen sooner rather than later, but the true weight of unwillingness seemed to bear down on him exponentially as he approached Alfred's office.

"It's time to talk about your mission," Alfred began, slipping into a more formal tone. "You recall the agreement was, when you transferred here, you'd be gathering information for us. As you are well aware, we have ample reason to believe this particular area has strong pockets of rebellious groups, and we intend to weed them out."

"What exactly will I be doing?"

"You'll continue your normal duties until the end of the week, when I'll be sending you to work in some menial job. Maybe at the central library. The pretense is you've been kicked out of the army and you are just a civilian trying to get by. What I want you to do is get to know the locals and figure out where exactly the rebel group or groups are meeting."

Kiku nodded. So he was to act as a nameless cog in the proverbial machine of society. He desperately hoped this mission wouldn't last his entire lifetime.

"All right, I'll give you a more detailed briefing at the end of the week. But for now," his tone lightened, "that's done and over with. Let's see you out."

They saluted formally and strolled together towards the door, with Kiku lost in thought. "You'll be able to keep your belongings as well," Alfred was saying. "Of course, though the uniforms will need to be returned to us, for the time being."

"I won't be bringing anything," Kiku replied. As Alfred looked at him in astonishment, the Japanese soldier explained, "I've never owned anything."

"Well, definitely find an opportunity to shop for new clothes," Alfred told him. "You're doing the Federation a real service, Kiku. This is a great day for democracy."

* * *

><p>"Trousers and a medium men's shirt. That'll be fifty yuan."<p>

Grumbling, Kiku dug into his wallet. He wasn't used to bargaining, and hadn't done badly for his first time; but cutting into his savings always felt like rubbing glass in his eye. He paid the shopkeeper and hastened out into the rain.

Dirty water splashed along the street as Kiku's sodden feet pounded against the pavement. The downpour steadily worsened and he dimly recalled how there was supposed to be a minor typhoon picking up steam in the local area. His umbrella was nearly blown from his hand when he spotted a small red figure in the near distance. He gasped.

It was the boy who had been performing at the city square from a few days before, and he was standing under the sagging terrace of a hot pot restaurant, his fat panda at his feet. The two of them appeared to be patiently waiting out the downpour.

"Would you like to share my umbrella?" Kiku called out.

The boy slowly turned. He blinked as a shock of sable-black hair tumbled across his forehead.

Dumbfounded, Kiku could only continue to hold out the umbrella, a bit awkwardly. A crack of lightning streaked the sky, accompanied by a clap of thunder. The boy hesitated for another moment before prodding his panda out towards Kiku, the rotund beast ambling reluctantly out from the shelter of the terrace, and then joining them. He looked into Kiku's eyes as the three of them fell into step, avoiding gaping puddles in the way. "Where are you headed?" Kiku asked politely.

"Nanzhan Xingfu. Is this really okay?"

"What? Oh. Yes. You know," Kiku said a bit teasingly, "in Japan, where I'm from, sharing an umbrella is a sign of friendship."

The boy didn't respond but instead glanced at Kiku's face again. "I know you from somewhere." The boy frowned. "Where?"

_No, but I sure wish you did_, a voice inside Kiku's head intoned. "I transferred here about a week ago—"

The boy sighed and then smiled. At the sight, Kiku doubly melted. "Are you a soldier?"

"I…was."

"What part of the arpeggio are you from?"

"Kyoto. Most of my family is up in Tokyo though."

"Oh, _Dongjing_."

"What?" The Chinese terms for north, south, east, and west were, respectively, _bei_, _nan_, _dong_, and _shi_, while the term for "capital" in Mandarin was _jing_. Thus, Beijing was, literally, the "Northern Capital", while Nanjing, for instance, was the "Southern Capital."

"Eh?" the boy inquired. "That's what I said. Tokyo. _Dongjing_. The Eastern Capital."

"The Chinese regard Tokyo as the 'Eastern Capital?'"

"Yes, we've always known and referred to it as such. The countries of China and Japan were a lot closer than you might think, way back when."

"Hmmm."

They had reached the intersection of Nanzhan Xingfu. "There will be no trains running for a while, since they always delay due to rain," Kiku said. "Stay and get a bite to eat with me?" Pleading played around the edges of his voice.

"I would," the boy said, "but I'm to meet a vendor here to get some things ready for my next performance. Besides, she's tired." He poked at the panda, who was shaking droplets out of her fur.

Instead of smiling politely and seeing him off, Kiku gripped the boy's arm. The boy looked up in surprise. "I'm staying now at the Peking Yard. Room 30," the faster Kiku spoke, the more courage he seemed to accumulate. "Come with me and keep me company. The panda can come, too. I've always wanted one."

Instead of getting angry, the boy smiled ruefully. "So you like pandas too? Thank you, sir, but I'm afraid not. With that little in common, I doubt we have much of a friendship ahead of us." He tried to shake free.

"Friends? We should be enemies," Kiku said, tightening his grip. "We can help each other, as long as we hate each other."

The boy couldn't help it. He stopped struggling, giving Kiku a very puzzled look.

"You see, while you're busy rejecting me, you can have the satisfaction of knowing I'll be showing up at your street performances every single day, throwing coins at you like a madman, until the moment you finally choose to acknowledge me. Think of all the panda jewelry you're going to be able to purchase for this porky one. Think of all the bamboo-rice balls."

Again, the boy couldn't help it. He laughed out loud, and Kiku cocked his head at him. "So much for the ice princess theory," he remarked.

"You should see me in bed," the boy replied at once, and he immediately looked aghast at himself. What had transpired that this Japanese stranger had been able to do in one hour what no one else had been able to do in his life—win enough of his trust that he was willing, even for a moment, to let himself _want_ him?

"I'm Honda Kiku."

"Wang Yao, and this is Xiao Dou."

"She's not exactly little." Reaching out, Kiku tucked a nonexistent wisp of hair behind Yao's round ear. Yao balked, and, leaning in quickly, kissed the Japanese man—on the cheek, although Kiku tried to move his mouth in the right position and proved too slow. Yao grinned and gathered up the panda's leash, abruptly turning his back.

"Room 30 at the Peking Yard, unh? I'll be at the square tomorrow afternoon. See you, Honda Kiku."

As the boy and his bear ran off in the distance, Kiku touched the spot where Yao had kissed him. He did not know why but in that moment he had to concentrate very hard to remind himself to breathe.

* * *

><p>"<em>Ge-ge<em>."

"Xiang Gang." Yao put down his things as his panda waddled inside and curled up on an old sheet. They had reached their destination, a hidden underground entrance beneath the complex of the Temple of Heaven.

Xiang put down the ladle he was whittling. "You know, I was on my way back from work and saw you earlier today. What were you doing talking to one of those soldiers for so long? Have you lost your mind?"

"_Ex_-soldier. Relax. He just lent me an umbrella and walked me to the station." Yao peeled off his wet clothes and stood naked by the doorway before walking in. He actually liked the feel of the rain against his skin.

Xiang Gang sighed. It wasn't unusual for the rather free-spirited Yao to be constantly approached, kissed, and even picked up by random strangers—especially members of the occupying troops—who were hoping to lure him back to their private quarters. Xiang was apprehensive that Yao was letting his guard down a bit too much. "At least he didn't invite you back for a drink."

"You know I don't." After all, abstinence from any type of drugs or alcohol was one of the first requirements of being a spy.

"We got our next assignments," Xiang said as Yao pulled on fresh clothes.

"Perfect. Right on time." Yao tied on an apron and started heating water for ramen.

"They'll go over the details at tonight's meeting, but the gist of it is, we're going to go ahead and physically send some people to know and get closer to the Federation troops. See where they're getting their supplies. They'll announce their decisions on who's going at the meeting."

"You want some of this?"

"I like it with the bok choy, please."

Yao nodded and dropped a few leaves into the pot. Several moments of silence passed as he watched the leaves swirl. "Xiang Gang."

"Mm?"

"What does 'kiku' mean? It's a Japanese name."

Despite his part time occupation as a laborer, Xiang Gang was well versed in literature and various languages, including English and Japanese. "Kiku. I think… I believe it means, 'chrysanthemum.'"

"Chrysanthemum!" Yao exclaimed. The touch of Kiku's skin against his small lips had felt as soothing as petals.

"Yes." Xiang Gang pulled himself up by the elbows, grinning at his elder brother. "Confucius once recommended they be used to assist in the process of meditation. The Japanese consider the methodical opening of a chrysanthemum bud to symbolize perfection."

"Symbolize perfection!" Yao exclaimed. He held up a towel as he stared off at the walls. Xiang followed his gaze and frowned, seeing nothing of interest there.

"What has gotten into you? You sound kind of—well, I don't know. Happy."

"It's been a beautiful day," Yao replied, as another streak of lightning exploded and sliced a nearby tree into splinters. Xiang chuckled.

For the remainder of dinner, neither brother spoke much to each other apart from one instance where Xiang persuaded Yao to re-heat the tea. Yao was vaguely aware that the Resistance meeting was tonight, but instead of concentrating, his thoughts strayed towards the other end of the city, towards Peking Yard, and he hungered for tomorrow, when he'd be sure to put on his best show to date.


	3. Chapter 3

_Boom_—the small blond figure lurched forward, his forehead barely missing cracking itself against the table. Slowly, he lifted his eyes, dazed and more than a little frightened, though trying his damndest not to make it obvious.

"This is a very distinctive Krakowian wallet," the officer in front of the young man enunciated slowly, his bad Polish heavily accented. He was rummaging through the man's belongings, carefully laying each item on the table. "May I take a look at your album?" Without waiting for a response, the officer reached in the wallet and held up a photograph. He squinted at it, impassively.

"What a nice-looking family. So well-dressed and modest. I especially like the green tie on that Lithuanian." The blond man looked up, alarmed. At this, the officer widened his eyes very slightly, leveling his gaze at him. "Tell me, is that why you picked out a matching green tie to wear today?"

"…I'm not wearing a goddamn tie," the man spat.

The officer narrowed his eyes and in the blink of an eye changed tactics. He tapped a corner of the photograph thoughtfully against his closed teeth. "I can see you're just itching to discuss the issue at hand, then." The young man's knuckles whitened as he slowly coiled up his fingers, watching the officer take out a pad of paper. "On June 10th, why did you leave the office unlocked before departing for the day?"

"I did not," the young man answered, looking the man directly in the eyes.

"Why did you make a CD containing all the major blueprints of our facilities and then leave it in the CPU, in your unlocked office?"

"I did not."

Another officer emerged from the shadowy corner. "Maybe he doesn't remember."

"Maybe he's a stupid liar," the first officer shot back.

"You're either an inconceivably stupid liar," the second officer said, approaching the blond man in an unnervingly leisurely manner, "or you're somebody who doesn't remember what he did and when he did it."

"Let me go home," the blond man seethed. "Or at least let me call my lawyer. This is illegal!"

_CRACK_—the blond man cried out as he was slapped, almost negligently, yet with enough force to leave him with a ringing in his ears.

"Don't do that," the second officer said softly. He had become suddenly, maddeningly calm. "Now, Feliks," he said, coming close enough to reach out and easily touch the man's face, "let me tell you a story of when I was just starting out in this unit. When was this? Perhaps… five, maybe six years ago. Like you, I had studied computer science. Fresh out of school, I was idealistic then, ready to make a difference, eager to serve my country. But, as you know, the economy fell on hard times and for months I couldn't find work. I fell behind on my student loans. I limited my meals to once a day. Pretty soon I was about to lose the roof over my head."

The first officer began furtively scribbling notes while the second officer resumed his story. "Then, one day at a job fair, I was approached by some local university students who invited me back to their place. I didn't see the harm—they seemed normal enough, and it was only a few blocks away. Also, I figured that I had nothing to lose. Once we got to the leader's house, we had a few beers, discussed politics for a couple of hours, played a little poker. Then, after sharing a few laughs and getting to know them more, the leader suddenly set his glass down and proceeded to give me an offer.

"These students knew somebody who worked in the government and who was in need of someone with an IT background. The job paid well, was close by, and even provided health benefits. It sounded too good to be true. There was one caveat, however. If I agreed to accept the job, there would come a time when I would be obligated to provide them with whatever information they requested.

"When I tried to ask these young men what type of information they could possibly want that they could only get through someone like me, their answers were rather vague. Census stuff, they answered. Statistics on mundane subjects like housing, pensions, etc. Information that might help them secure a research grant over competing universities."

"Get to the point," the blond man whispered. Blood was running out of both his nostrils.

The second officer's voice hardened. "About six months into my new job, the time came for the students to call in their favor. And do you know what their request was? That I hack into every main server of the branch I worked for and relay what I could back to them. That I commit _treason_ against the Federation. When I demanded to know what I had really gotten myself into, they gave me some incomprehensible lecture about stopping 'invasions' and strong-arming bases already spread all over the world. Never mind that the branch I was working for was only helping those who specifically _asked_ for help. I refused, and they tried to get to my mother with poison, promising only to relent once I fulfilled their requests."

"Does this sound like a personally familiar situation to you?" the first officer said softly, menacingly. The pad of paper was nowhere to be seen.

"No. It doesn't!"

"I see. Perhaps I should get a second opinion. Perhaps I should pay a visit to 413 Rue Street and personally ask Mr. Toris Lorinaitis how you might have gotten yourself into this unfortunate situation."

"NO!" Feliks pulled himself up with great effort and for the first time appeared on the verge of panic. "Leave him out of this!"

"Who has that CD?" the first officer barked, pushing his face into the blond man's. "What is _on_ the CD?"

"Fucked if I know—and I wouldn't tell you if I did!"

"I see." The first officer reached out and seized Feliks's arm in a steel grip, peering at his second in command. "Get me the butane torch." The second in command nodded and removed a long tool from his black bag. He turned it on.

Feliks gasped as the heat of the blue-hot flame came closer and closer to his face, causing droplets of sweat to stream like tears down his cheeks. He shut his eyes.

"Now," the first officer began again, holding the flame steady, "I'll ask you one last time, who has that CD? You have exactly two seconds to respond."

* * *

><p>"Moda," Xiang Gang, clutching an oil-soaked bag, mumbled the password through the doorway. The door swung open to the lower level of a small building that was hidden in the bustling alleyways of the Silk Road night market. Directly above them, a shrill-sounding scene from a classic Chinese opera was being performed on the tiny, protruding balcony. Xiang Gang stuffed the rest of the pork bun down his throat. The Resistance rotated its meeting areas every few months, and he was grateful that this time, they were meeting someplace where he had his choice of good grub.<p>

Xiang Gang and Yao walked in and took their seats around the table. Across the room, in a dim corner, Yao spotted a familiar figure and grinned over at it. Ivan was at his own desk, hunched over the messages they'd intercepted from sundry Federation communication vectors. As Yao watched, Ivan sauntered over to him, while pretending to uncork the flask he ubiquitously kept at his side. He rolled his eyes and took exaggerated gulps, poking fun at how tedious his work was. Yao burst into a peal of laughter.

It was actually Yao who'd initially served as the group's cryptographer, but after approximately a year, he had personally asked Ivan to replace him. By nature, Yao had a difficult time staying in one place and always sitting still; he was forever on the hunt to learn newer and more challenging techniques. More to the point, he wanted to make a bigger impact for the group.

One day last spring he'd finally approached the German leader of their faction and asked to transfer to "field work." At first, Ludwig was against the idea. Although, physically, Yao's childlike face and angelic golden eyes seemed to radiate naïve innocence as well as a sense of trustworthiness, and in terms of social graces, he was a decently smooth charmer, his looks made him stand out. Their most valuable spy, Matthew, could slip in and out of a crowd undetected; he had no trouble blending into just about any random group, almost to the point where one experienced difficulty recalling his specific face, even after spotting him only a few moments before. By contrast, Yao could _never_ blend in. He was too striking, too exquisite. When he passed them, men and women alike would turn their heads, memorizing his appearance; some would sigh and dream of his face long after their glances were broken.

It wasn't until after Yao demonstrated his show-worthy kung fu tricks that Ludwig was convinced he could be of real use, in terms of field work. Civilians and soldiers alike flocked to his shows, hypnotized not only by his showboating but also by the ministrations of the adorable panda, and they would strive to win his attention after each performance. The soldiers in particular would compete with each other over him, offering him free tickets to their soirees, afterwards practically dragging him to their private barracks.

At first, Ludwig was wary for Yao's safety; but the information Yao was able to relay to him proved invaluable for their cause. Using the intelligence Yao acquired, the Resistance was able to set up a complex network of hidden cameras at key points in the main Federation headquarters, decipher which weapons / chemicals the Federation was eyeing to trade or purchase from other governments, and recruit other dissidents. Perhaps most importantly, Yao provided warnings on where the Federation's watchdogs were looking to raid, so they could continuously plan where and went to meet so as to not get caught. Yao's and the other members' hard work boosted the morale of their own small-yet-growing militia.

Yes, Ludwig mused to himself. Yes, Yao would be the right man for the job. "Is everyone situated, save those we know are on duty?" he boomed across the table. "Let's start.

"As everyone is well aware, there has been a relatively significant increase in Federation troops, primarily in Ring 2 where the main headquarters are stationed," Ludwig began. "Though the presence of the troops coincides with the upcoming annual world summit, Gilbert thinks there might be more to their presence than just extra protection for the visiting foreign leaders. Bro?"

Gilbert, still donning his Federation cap, chewed hard on the toothpick between his jaws before speaking. "I think the leaders are preparing something big, likely tied with expanding their influence across the globe—in other words, something requiring the big guns. _Force_."

"Great, just what the world needs. More weapons!" Yao called out sarcastically.

"Additionally, according to my little flying camera, there's a lot more Federation spies stationed here in Beijing than there were just about two months ago." Beneath Gilbert's cap, a few small tweets were audible.

"We've been anticipating this for a little while," Ivan spoke up in a bright voice, "but lately, I've been having to remove about three times as many more malicious bots than usual, that are trying to hack us. At the same time, they've been really tightening their own vectors. I'd really like to tighten _their_ little vectors; around their necks, that is-"

Yao's cell began to vibrate, and right away he pulled it from his pocket. Frowning, he motioned as though to excuse himself. "It looks important," he explained clumsily to Ludwig, who hesitated before waving his hand and allowing him to depart the table. Yao retreated into a corner as Xiang Gang looked back, worried.

Ludwig turned back around, facing the table once more. "What do you think—are they _building_ something? Developing new alliances? What you've all gathered are bland statements and observations. Tell me something concrete."

"Dunno," Gilbert muttered, tossing his toothpick into the wastebasket under the table. "I'm just supposed to be an infantryman, remember? I don't have that kind of security clearance."

"Ludwig!"

Yao sprinted back to the table. "They got Warsaw and Vilnius!" Ivan stiffened.

"What?" Ludwig looked caught off guard for a split second; the next moment, he'd assembled his features into his usual impassive glance. "Where are Feliks and Toris now?"

"Toris just sent me a message. All it said was, 'Fed. agents here, tell Berlin they're onto us'. I can't reach him—he must have destroyed his phone." Tears were forming at the corners of his golden eyes.

"They definitely must have been arrested already. That's unfortunate. Well, that settles it. Yao, I was actually planning on offering you a choice, but it's obvious now: it _is_ decided. We've lost both Warsaw and Vilnius. You're going in."

"What? Into the Federation headquarters?" Ivan demanded. "You can't send him there!" Ludwig leveled a gaze at him that left even Ivan momentarily speechless.

"And what about Feliks and Toris?" Xiang Gang demanded. He didn't like how the others were avoiding his eyes.

"Kid, there's nothing we can do for those two now," one of the agents from the far end of the table spoke up.

Xiang Gang swallowed and started to shake. He was not exactly naive. Of course, they'd all taken the oath to disavow all knowledge of the Resistance should they get captured. However, as this was the first time he'd witnessed his fellow agents getting heartlessly abandoned, Xiang couldn't seem to physically stop himself from venting his sheer incredulousness.

"You _know_ what they do to spies!" Xiang stood up; his sleeve was seized. Xiang whirled around. "Yao," he pleaded, "do something!"

"_Di-di_. If they're fortunate, perhaps the government will classify them as _persona non grata_ and have them simply be exiled out of the country."

Xiang tore his sleeve out of Yao's grasp. "I can't believe any of you!" he shouted to the entire room. "These are your brothers you're talking about- Feliks was supposed to show me how to make sauerkraut this weekend—these guys are your _friends_, how can you—"

"That's the world in which we live," Ludwig thundered. "Xiang Gang. Feliks and Toris knew what they were getting themselves into. They made their own decisions and were never once forced into them. They believed in the Resistance.

"We're all here because we have a right to exist. We know that what the Federation is doing _now_ is not working. It's not _sustainable_. They call themselves a democracy, yet there is not a single woman in their entire Diet. We don't want that, we want rights for the people, obviously; a Republic, yes, but one limited by real laws, not just what _most_ people feel like voting—"

"You know what being a spy ultimately means, kid," Gilbert said, a bit somberly. "At the end of the day, it's every man for himself."

"But—"

Ludwig held up his hand and the room fell into an uneasy silence; the agents acutely aware that he was nearing the end of his patience. "Yao. You'll show up here tomorrow morning at oh-seven-hundred. I've gotten you a position as a Mandarin translator at the Federation headquarters. You'll be briefed quickly before you go." He turned towards Xiang Gang and tried to soften his tone. "You should be proud of your big brother. He's doing the Resistance an invaluable service."

"I'm starting to wonder if the agents we have in this Resistance are really all that different than the Federation crooks," Xiang Gang muttered under his breath. At that, the very air stilled; one could hear a pin drop in the room.

"No," a voice cracked through the silence. Yao turned to his brother. "We're all the same people, using the same methods on one another, but our difference lies with our ideologies. Nonetheless, Xiang Gang, we all want-or _claim_ to want- the same goals, the same thing in the end. Peace."


	4. Chapter 4

"Four Gates" is dedicated to my Hasegawa, my lovely _mei-mei_ of my heart, who is on the fast path to saving _millions_ of lives with her brilliant biochemistry research. Congratulations on your early graduation and best of luck in everything, genius!

A/N: Reviews are love.

* * *

><p>Kiku had only been working in the central library for three days when, one slow afternoon, he got lost. Perhaps this was another reason he should not have signed up for this occupation in the first place—his sense of direction was average at best.<p>

Patiently, he paced up and down the empty hall with a heavy reference book in his hands, between the mountainous shelves, his footfalls making no sound. He very vaguely recalled where the exit to the main branch lay, yet continued turning in circles.

"But I do work here," he heard someone insist a few corridors down; the husky voice struck a chord in him so suddenly, he felt his head swim.

"This section is off-limits to civilians," a female voice replied. "I'll have to have a word with your manager—"

"That'll be fine. He's with me," a smart British-accented voice cut in, the very moment Kiku rounded the corner and caught a glimpse of the speakers. The Japanese man nearly did a double take.

_He_ was there—what was he doing here? Next to him stood a blonde British man with abundantly hairy eyebrows, who had his hand on Yao's shoulder.

The librarian dropped her authoritative tone as she retreated back to her desk towards the front of the building. "I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland. Please don't mind me."

Kiku frowned as he watched "Mr. Kirkland's" rough calloused hand travel slowly to the small of Yao's back and rub it in slow circles. "I'll have a special ID made for you," the Englishman was saying in a low, comforting voice. "She was right in that this area is restricted to military and government personnel, but you're working for the Federation now—oh, hello there, Honda. What are you doing here?"

Kiku jumped, grasping the reference book with one hand and forming the other into a proper saluting gesture, right in the nick of time. "Sir. I work here now. I was discharged on Monday." He racked his memory on who this officer might be, only to come up short.

"I… see." The British officer looked Kiku up and down, keeping his hand on Yao's back.

"Officer Jones relieved me, sir."

"I plan on having dinner with him later tonight," Kirkland chuckled. "How are you liking it so far?"

"Not bad. I've met a few nice locals who stop by frequently. I even met this one really cute Chinese, but it turned out they were already seeing a Federation officer." Yao, who had been previously bowing his head, glanced up, startled.

Kirkland laughed. "There are _millions_ of fish in the sea, Honda. Don't stress about it. Oh, where are my manne—this is Li Xiao Ming, my new Mandarin translator," he waved towards Yao. Yao had formed his face into a placid smile, betraying absolutely no indication that they had ever met before. Kiku took his outstretched hand. It was right then he noticed, for the first time that day, that Yao was wearing plain gray work attire—very different from the dark red and gold hanfu he wore for performances—and that his hair was sculpted into a single dark braid that hung down the entire length of his slim back.

"Li does very good work," Kirkland was saying, rubbing the back of Yao's neck gently—Kiku thought his throbbing vein might burst—"in fact, he's already helped us secure two multi-million dollar jet deals from one of the major airlines in this country, that might otherwise have taken _weeks_ to finalize—or even been lost in translation. He's really helped these companies see how things are from our end. That's how some wars are prevented, eh—improved communication! What do you think Kiku?" he asked jokingly. "Should we keep him around?"

Kiku blinked. "Yes, sir. After all, poor communication can _lead_ to wars." He stared straight into Yao's eyes as he ground out the last sentence.

"Mr. Arthur," Yao spoke up quickly, "I had better—"

"Right, I have a meeting to get to anyway. It was good running into you, Honda. Good luck in everything."

Arthur Kirkland brought his hand down to Yao's arm and drew him in for a quick peck on the lips.

THUD.

Both men stared as Kiku muttered "I'm sorry," as he bent downwards to retrieve the fallen reference book and place it on a nearby table. Arthur gave him a reassuring grin, which Kiku did not return, cupped Yao under the chin to give him another kiss, turned his heel and left. Neither the Chinese nor the Japanese man moved a muscle as they listened to the heavy staccato of Arthur's boots fading down the hall.

After another moment of awkward silence, Yao turned and immediately felt his wrist seized in a vice-like grip.

"One question," Yao heard, and from the tone of the voice he didn't dare lift his eyes to face the speaker. "True or false. Are you an agent of some kind? Or a whore?"

Yao didn't answer for a moment. "That's two questions," he finally murmured.

Kiku tightened his grip so that Yao let out a soft cry. "You didn't say no to either. You want to know my level of contempt for either occupation?"

"I'm not a whore," Yao answered. "And if I were an agent, what would be my objective, exactly? To secure weapons deals for the Federation military? That just guarantees we're probably on the same side, doesn't it?"

"You're coming with me," Kiku tugged and forced Yao to walk with him. To Kiku, the whole thing was ugly. When he had first met the Chinese boy, it had been fun, but now he could not think of him except in a sexual context with that English officer. It made Yao ugly. His slenderness, the delicacy of his face, the innocence in his golden eyes—they became deceptive, repulsive to Kiku now.

"Where are you taking me?"

Kiku didn't answer, only picked up the pace, roughly dragging the Chinese boy with him.

"Let me go," Yao said, more urgently; his face looking all innocent and vulnerable. "Why are you arresting me?"

"Believe me, I'm not trying to do that."

"Why can't you leave me alone?"

They had reached the deepest, darkest, most isolated corner of the central library. Kiku held one of Yao's small wrists in each hand. He backed both of them into a corner, until Yao was pressed flush against a wall.

"Yao—Li—whoever you are—"

"Yao."

"—you liked me that day."

"No I didn't," Yao said, lying through his teeth. Because he knew he was lying, he went on: "I didn't like you at all. You were pushy and your attention was completely unwelcome."

Kiku pressed his lips together, fascinated. The Chinese boy's gorgeous face was like an optical illusion. His expression did not change in tune to his words, per se, but the _perception_ of his facial expressions did, switching from absolute trustworthiness to something like apprehensive uncertainty.

"What are you here for?" Kiku asked him, a bit of a smirk playing on his lips. "There's no way you'd automatically switch from street performing to being a Mandarin translator for the _Federation_ higher-ups, without some major help along the way. Right, Mr. _Li_?"

"What are _you_ here for?" Yao shot back at him. "You haven't really been discharged from the military, have you?"

Kiku's knuckles whitened as he switched and used one hand to grip both of Yao's wrists, pushing his face into the Chinese boy's so he could stare him down. "What do you think you know?" With his other hand he found the top of Yao's trousers and began to pull on them.

"Is this an interrogation?" Yao quivered against his motions, yet his face was twisted into a smirk that matched Kiku's.

With a few firm tugs, he loosened the top and Yao felt the grip give way from his waist, being pulled away from him. His boxers were caught up in the trousers and they too began to come down. "The past two days. Why haven't you visited my room at the Peking Yard?" Kiku demanded as he stripped the boy.

"I haven't slept with that Britain, you know." Yao only smiled coyly at him.

The Japanese man was undoing the few buttons on Yao's work shirt. His hand brushed against Yao's member as he undid the last buttons. His fingers wrapped firmly around Yao's member, but did not start stroking. Instead, he opened Yao's shirt and played his fingers slowly over his nipples, flicking them back and forth and then rubbing them lightly, feeling them firming underneath his touch.

"Aahh…" Yao shut his eyes, feeling the air rush against his bare skin. He gripped the Japanese soldier's back, nearly tearing the fabric of his shirt with his long fingernails. One hand snaked down to Kiku's trousers, caressing the bulge; Kiku fumbled with his own belt until his own trousers were loosened. Yao's fingers twirled around in Kiku's pubic hair and slid around his member. He rubbed it until Kiku was almost rocking with the pleasure it brought.

Yao jolted as he felt Kiku's hands move slowly down his back to his buttocks and squeeze a cheek in each hand, the fingers pressing into his spread crack. Kiku slid one finger into his ass, moving it in a circle, and forced a second one deep inside. Yao cried out in pain, thrusting himself forwards, trying to avoid the probing fingers. "Shhh," Kiku whispered, pressing a kiss into the crook of Yao's neck. His touch was so unexpectedly gentle that Yao widened his golden eyes in shock.

"I can't," the Chinese boy whispered urgently.

"It's uncomfortable only for a moment," Kiku took Yao's earlobe gently in his teeth before facing him again.

"_No_. We can't," Yao flinched in pain, "I have to go back—it's my first—no-"

He yelped as Kiku lifted him up and off his feet and held him so that his feet were in the air, his legs wrapped around the Japanese man's waist, using the wall as extra leverage. Kiku firmly pressed two fingers into Yao, pressing in and out, in and out; involuntarily, Yao's hips began rocking back and forth as his nether regions, with a mind of their own, seemed to be trying to pull the invading fingers deeper. Yao let out a soft moan, pleading without words to be finished off. He began caressing Kiku's member again, harder and faster this time, causing Kiku in turn to increase his own rocking motions.

The simultaneous climax was intense, shattering; when both men withdrew their fists, they were each coated in hot wetness. Kiku wrapped his arms around the Chinese boy as he gently lifted him down. He didn't let him go even once Yao was on the floor.

"Why?" Yao began quivering in his overprotective embrace. He looked up at Kiku with that perceptive gaze, his mouth shaping into a small pout. "What do you want from me?"

"I don't know. It horrifies me."

"I might be using you, for all you know."

"I _know_." Kiku brushed Yao's sweaty hair out of his eyes. He frowned and lowered his chin as he spoke, as though only to himself. "But I trust you. Why?"

A loud clanging made them both jump and then laugh. It was the closing bell, echoing all the way from the front entrance of that massive library.

"I do have to go," Yao said in that typical abrupt manner of his, starting to pull his clothes back on. "I have to feed Xiao Dou."

"How did you know I was not actually discharged?" Kiku asked as he buttoned up his shirt.

Yao's head shot up in transparent surprise. "I didn't. You were throwing accusations… so I just said that."

Kiku blinked slowly as he formed his face into a deadpan expression. "I see. And by chance I was transferred to Beijing in the first place, and by chance, one rainy afternoon, we learned the other's real name."

"Who knew we'd be running into each other again, like this?"

Yao grinned ruefully. An instant later, Kiku's mouth shaped into one of his rare smiles. At that moment, a heavy silence seemed to weigh down on both of them, as though they both realized that the other was quite possibly the only other human in the world that might be sharing the exact same riveting thoughts and feelings and ordeal of taking it all, as themselves—but in reverse. The feeling was akin to falling from someplace very high, yet taking the leap together, with each other's hands clasped.

The whole business was nonsensical, and quite possibly the most logical action to take at that moment was to either kill each other or each swallow a suicide pill. But, as a wise man once said, love makes you drop about a hundred IQ points.

"I'll walk you to the entrance," Kiku offered, and Yao accepted, though Yao in the end turned out to be a better guide. They walked in silence to the front gate of the library, with the moon just beginning to glaze down over the horizon. Kiku cleared his throat, but Yao beat him to it.

"Have you visited the Silk Road shops of Beijing?"

"Not yet. I haven't even been here more than about a week. I'd rather see some of the historical sites than shop, though."

"How about I take you to the Summer Palace this weekend?"

Kiku stroked Yao's hair and using one finger drew a line between his eyebrows and down the profile of his nose, making him shiver with delight. He placed his hand at the back of Yao's neck and drew him in, holding him close.

They parted ways in the moonlight. As he watched Kiku stroll away, Yao closed his fingers around a rigid object in his pocket. It was a set of keys to one of the main Federation control rooms that he had lifted from Arthur Kirkland earlier that day. He sighed in real regret.

Turning his heel, Yao suddenly felt the hairs at the back of his neck prickling. He walked a bit faster, his hands jammed in his pockets. Two dark figures observed his movements from the dim alleyways between the buildings in a nearby business park.

"That's him all right. Tell the others to keep a tail on him until we find out exactly where he lives."

The other figure turned to his leader. "Are we going to take him out once he gets there?"

"No." The first figure's lips curled up into a smile. "We have to scope things out first. But it shouldn't take too long. Once we do learn more, _then_ we finish the job."


	5. Chapter 5

Balancing an AK-47 on his right shoulder, Alfred nearly reeled backwards as he wrenched open the door to the barracks. The three slain bodies, all wearing Federation-issued clothes, were strewn on the ground. They had been bled-out and cold for at least an hour-the air was heavy with the stench of smoke and death. Behind Alfred, Lovino, a Southern-Italian officer, wrinkled his nose.

"It's those Resistance dogs, isn't it, Jones?"

"Wait." The American officer's mouth was set in a thin line as he ran a gloved finger over the bullet holes left in the beams of the compound. "No. At the very least, inconclusive. See, these were left by the type of weaponry not normally used by or available to Resistance militia. And that strange tip-off I got…"

"What are you thinking?"

"The murder of our men, this whole operation feels to me to be a set-up, to make it _look_ like the Resistance was behind this."

"You don't believe—" Here Lovino balked, hesitant to finish his sentence.

"Hand me those bags," Alfred motioned to the basic forensic equipment Lovino was carrying. "Let's call in a cleaning crew after we get this done."

* * *

><p>The young woman in the doorway stared into Yao's eyes, challenging him silently, as she gnawed loudly on a piece of gum. She snapped it once before she spoke.<p>

"Hello, Beijing." The young woman dropped her overnight bags on the floor with a _thud_ and spit out her gum into a nearby wastebasket.

"Wan, I've told you," Yao wrung a dishcloth nervously between his fingers. "It's alright, you don't have to use my 'other' moniker. Call me _Ge-ge_. Or at least by my real name."

"All right, _Beijing_."

Yao sighed. "Thanks, _Taipei_." Watching this exchange, Xiang Gang gave a small smile. Wan and Yao were way too similar in numerous ways, not excluding temperament; both step-siblings, normally cool-headed on any given day, seemed to instantly lose their marbles around each other.

"Your temper's gotten worse with age, Beijing," Wan sniveled.

These two could really fight.

Yao sighed again as he gathered up her bags and marched into Xiang Gang's room, which doubled as a guest room. After placing her luggage, he simply sat down near the kitchen stove and began silently folding wontons. Wan hung around for another moment, but after receiving no further response from her older brother, huffed and flounced out of the kitchen.

Xiang Gang followed her into his bedroom, sitting down next to her on his mattress. Carefully, he put a reassuring hand on the small of her back.

"Wow, five minutes and you already got into an argument with him? That has to be a new record."

"He's okay." Wan shrugged and got up, ready to unfold her sleeping mat next to Xiang's. With one touch of his arm, she stopped her movements and sat back down. "I just can't help but give him a hard time. _Chi fu_ _ta_."

"Yes." He placed his hands on her wide shoulders. "Massage?"

"Massage."

"You _chi fu_ him so much, he's become kind of afraid of you. Haven't you noticed?"

"Hehehe. Evil step-brother." She closed her eyes as Xiang's strong fingers worked a deep knot in her back. "I haven't been to his shows in a while. How is his kung fu coming along?"

"Still practicing every day and looking extremely kick-ass," Xiang pursed his lips as he smoothed out the knot, making Wan twitch uncomfortably. Lowering his head slightly, he kissed the sore spot and she sighed. "Still thinks he's no good."

"He is _awesome_ at it! See, he's pretty stupid for thinking otherwise."

Xiang chuckled again. "If you can't stand him so much, why do you bother coming around at all?"

"The food." Wan's head lolled back in relaxation. "_Ge-ge_ is still the best cook in the entire hemisphere. The other day I thought to myself that I would sell every polyethylene piping plant in the entire region for a single wonton cooked by _Ge-ge_."

She paused, lowering her voice, as though talking to herself. "After all, he's still my stupid family, and family is forever. I grudgingly admit that his absence is at times even more irritating than his presence. Also," she rambled with a faint blush, "he _is_ nicer to look at nowadays. Ouch!"

"You little fibber," Xiang retorted, not apologizing for the pinch. "It's not just that. The food and what not."

"He has to learn to look after himself better," Wan's tone had deepened, sounding more serious. She put a hand up to her forehead. "You, too—you're his responsibility, has he forgotten that or something?"

"Wan, you don't have to worry—" He had stopped massaging her shoulders.

"Yes, Xiang, I heard about Toris and Feliks. _Tian_," she pinched the bridge of her nose, looking stressed and despondent. "And _now_ _Ge-ge_ thinks it's a good idea to go swimming with sharks? Jump directly into the Federation headquarters?"

She directed her gaze downwards, pulling at the frayed strands on Xiang's blanket. He took her hands away from the blanket and held them gently. "I practically threw myself onto the first flight I could out here. What if something happens to him? To _you_ too?"

"He's already 200% committed to this mission. You're not going to change his mind."

"Yes, I _can_," she insisted, putting one finger lightly on Xiang's nose. Their foreheads met. "You and I are the only ones he ever listens to."

"Wan, _Ge-ge_ _can_ take care of himself. He's evaded capture dozens of times. He's brave and he's doing this because he wants to make the world a better place for us," Xiang said in his most reassuring voice.

"He's brave but it's useless, he doesn't realize how useless this all is," Wan snapped. Judging from the look in her eyes Xiang steeled himself, grinning in anticipation. "Both the Federation and the Resistance, bottom line is they're all run at the top by these…" Here Wan momentarily paused. "These _politicians_. In the world of politics, concerning what comes out of most people's mouths, there are fat lies, thin lies, short lies, tall lies, dangerous lies, harmless little white lies—but guess what. They're ALL. LIES."

"The other night I was out purchasing a new shirt and a tie for a job interview. Then I got a new pairs of dress shoes this morning." Xiang was trying hard to keep his tone equivalently serious, but he gave up and erupted into chortles. "Guess what the total was? Two hundred thirty yuan. Did we lose a war or something?"

"One and we're in the process of losing another! _Aiyah_!"

She threw her arms around Xiang and kissed him passionately, hard, lover-to-lover; he lifted her up and they tumbled to the mattress. Hands found the closure of her dress, his trousers, and soon the fabrics were spread across the floor. Wan drifted in Xiang's kiss as she felt his soft touch brush against her bare skin.

Outside the door, Yao nearly burnt himself cooking the wontons as a bit of boiling water spilled out from the pot, and shouted so loudly that it startled a small flock of sparrows feeding in a small outcropping, beneath the Temple of Heaven.

But Xiang Gang and Wan did not notice.

* * *

><p>"<em>Dongjing<em>. But we call it _T_okyo."

"Right. The hard "T" is due to the Japanese accent. Just like the word _kanji_ is derived from the word _hanji_, meaning, Han Chinese script. But the hard "k" is due to the Japanese accent."

"Right then. May I _k_iss you?"

Strong fingers wound through Yao's hair, dragging his head back until his neck stretched almost too tightly. Kiku's mouth lowered, and as they kissed, Yao moaned at the slight pain of the Japanese spy's bite. The Chinese man reluctantly pulled away, as he became acutely aware of the wide-eyed stares and hushed whispers of strangers stealing glances at their café table.

They were on lunch break from their respective jobs. It was a slow day at the library today, and the weather outside was pleasant, not uncomfortably hot. But the patrons at this outdoor restaurant weren't giving them a break.

"Let them stare," Kiku mumbled into Yao's cheek, nearly bumping over their bowls.

"Kiku… I'm hungry! I want to finish this."

In response, Kiku pushed his chair back a few inches. He reached out and pulled Yao into his lap, who let out an astonished yelp. "Would you like me to feed you?"

Yao thought for a moment and nodded, blushing. Chopsticks were lifted and brought to his mouth. Yao took the offering, and smiled as Kiku wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Yao's hands lay in his lap as he sat, held in place by one strong arm. The next mouthful of spicy tofu came, and as Yao took it, a grain of rice fell onto his shirt.

"That will never do," Kiku said quietly. He held Yao's hands as his head lowered. Yao gasped as Kiku's mouth barely brushed him, removing the offending grain.

"I'm not really that hungry," Yao whispered, afraid that if Kiku did that again, he'd go mad with desire.

"Peking Yard?"

"Peking Yard."

Winding his arms around the Japanese man's neck, Yao lightly touched his lips to Kiku's. Kiku tossed a handful of yuan on the table top and out the door they flew.

* * *

><p>"Who was it then?" Arthur was trembling, his face set in shock and disbelief. He had been nursing a glass half-full of brandy, but obviously wasn't feeling the calming effects yet.<p>

"I don't know. But I am almost certain it wasn't the Resistance's doing." Alfred brushed a few blonde strands out of his round, fair face.

"You're saying that whoever these murderers are—they're probably trying to frame the Resistance?"

"Exactly. And here's another thought…"

Arthur set his glass down and folded his arms, waiting, while Alfred nervously cleared his throat. "We might want to reach out to them, in order to find out who did this and what their motivations were."

"What?" Arthur exclaimed. "Reach out to the _Resistance_? They'll shoot us or take us hostage on sight!"

"So you're thinking what I'm thinking!" the American replied almost giddily.

Arthur lowered his face, as though embarrassed to be sharing the same room as Alfred. Alfred's dopey smile withered a bit, until Arthur opened his mouth. "There might be a way. I know just the man to send."

"Artie!" Alfred brightened again. "You trust me!"

"I've always trusted you, git. You have good instincts when the time calls for it. Now," Arthur tapped the side of his head, "their leader. That German."

"Ludwig," Alfred immediately helped out. "Aka, 'Berlin.' Aka, 'Howitzer.' Aka-"

"We've spent years trying to capture him, but he knows this city too well and he's just too damn smart. However, after lots of deliberation, based on the intelligence we've gathered about his… _preferences_, I think I've finally secured the perfect red-haired bait that will surely lure him out."

Alfred's eyes widened as he slowly comprehended Arthur's intentions. "No. Artie. Not that Italian."

"Tell Feliciano Vargas that he is to meet me at my office at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow. We'll provide him with the details of his mission, and a blue sailor-boy outfit."

"Huh?"

"We have to make him look attractive to their leader," Arthur spoke impatiently. "We'll give him something eye-catching or at least cute. You know, something along those lines."

Alfred grinned playfully; this conversation had wound up in such an odd place. "Would _you_ come out of hiding after several years, to talk to a mortal enemy you were dead set on bringing down, if _I_ put on a blue sailor-boy outfit and started prancing around in front of you seductively?"

"If… if _you_ did that, Jones?" Alfred's smile began to wane as a faint blush crept into Arthur's cheeks.

Awkward silence endured. A loud rapping at the door made the pair jump.

"May I remind you numbskulls that three good soldiers are dead and that we owe it to them to bring the killers to justice, before we start talking about acting out our weird fantasies?" Lovino, his arms full of reports, sneered at the door.

"Lovino," Alfred said without turning around, "do you have a blue sailor-boy outfit back in your barracks? Your brother needs to borrow it in order to seduce the head German spy of the Resistance out of hiding."

"…_What_?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Major Jones. Major Kirkland. That is a goddamn stupid plan."

Alfred stared their commander in the eye, frankly at a loss for words. Beside him, Arthur was stone-silent, but Alfred was familiar enough with his micro-expressions to tell that he was crestfallen.

"Last week, intelligence gathered some new reports on the status of the Resistance militia. Using illegal South American and European channels, they have upgraded their weaponry. They have access now to the type of guns that killed our men." His boss leaned back in his chair. "Jones, I expected more from you. When you call me for a meeting on such short notice, I would hope you'd be prepared."

"Agent Im gathered these status reports?" Arthur perked up. If he didn't know better, to him, Alfred sounded a bit incredulous.

"He did. Now, while you're at my desk, Kirkland, it means that neither you nor I is doing his job. Good night."

Both Arthur and Alfred turned to leave, when their boss spoke up again, in a somewhat more muted tone. "Stay behind for a minute, Jones."

Alfred glanced at the Britain before retreating back to the commander's desk. A muscle jumped in Arthur's jaw and he exited the office, become more and more irate with each step. As he reached the main lobby, he heard a soft voice enunciating "Mr. Arthur," from behind the corridor.

Yao's thin form emerged beside a pillar. "I finished with that major aircraft case—" he barely finished his sentence as Arthur seized his arm. Without a word, Arthur started dragging him away from the main lobby, in the direction of his own quarters. "Is something wrong?" Yao asked, his voice barely concealing a note of alarm. Arthur kept his eyes ahead, refusing to look him in the face; at this, Yao attempted to dig in his heels and wriggle free.

"Calm down." Arthur turned then. Yao opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut as he glimpsed the look on Arthur's face. He felt his palms beginning to sweat. Had Arthur realized that the key was a duplicate? Was he truly about to be apprehended this time?

Arthur suddenly twisted Yao's wrist and pulled him forwards, until they were mere millimeters apart. Before Yao could speak, Arthur's palm came over his mouth. The Brit smiled. "Everything's going to be okay." He released Yao's mouth, turned, and continued dragging him along.

Heart pounding, Yao furtively scanned the perimeter; he was surrounded on all sides by Federation personnel. In no time, they reached Arthur's quarters.

Arthur threw Yao back-first into his bunk as soon as he shut the door forcefully. He straddled the little Chinese boy and pressed his lips, hard, onto the boy's mouth; Yao moaned in discomfort as Arthur's unshaven cheek ground against his sensitive skin. Arthur held him closely and firmly, with a desperate air of authority. He kissed him deeply; his hand grabbing a handful of Yao's silky hair to keep him in place. When Arthur finally broke the kiss, Yao's head fell against his chest as he caught his breath. Yao whimpered as Arthur clenched his grip on the silken strands.

"He 'expected more' from Jones," Arthur was murmuring, barely coherent as his other hand began fumbling and loosening Yao's belt. "So he expected me to fuck up an important mission? We have the _same rank_!" Yao wanted to cry out; Arthur's touch was becoming rough, yanking Yao's clothing away until the boy lay nude underneath the Britain. Arthur held down Yao's struggling form as he unbuckled his own trousers. "Stop wasting energy, sweetness. You're not going anywhere."

"Arthur, no," Yao begged.

Hearing the Chinese boy's voice, Arthur appeared to return to his senses, but only briefly. He left the boy for a moment, leaving Yao feeling strongly lost, chilled without his heat; then Yao screamed as Arthur lifted him and entered him, filling him in one swift stroke.

Pain blinded his senses. Yao, utterly shocked at the size of the British man, thrashed wildly; it felt as though a pole was entering him. In response Arthur held Yao even more tightly, completely ignoring his cries, preventing him from bucking forward to escape the intrusive pain. After a few moments, tears streaking his face, Yao gave into the burning intensity as Arthur started to ride him.

"That's what I want," Arthur said, his voice deepening. "Give me your love. Your soul."

The small bed creaked as Arthur rose to his knees, taking Yao with him, Yao's legs spread around Arthur's waist. As Yao arched his back, mind blank with pain and yet peaking with levels of pleasure he'd never before experienced, Arthur's hand went in between their pressed bodies, touching the sensitive folds, causing the Chinese boy to scream and shake as Arthur pulled him higher.

Arthur finished in him and Yao's head hung over the edge of the bed; there was no strength left in him. "Please, no more," Yao whispered, as though Arthur would heed his words.

Arthur picked Yao up and carried him away from the edge of the bed. Yao's eyes fluttered open as Arthur gently brushed his bangs away from his forehead. "Look at me," Arthur said.

Yao lay limp in Arthur's arms. He never wanted to move again. "You're my only reason for staying in Beijing," he heard, and immediately jolted awake, taken aback.

A loud ringing cut through the air. Simultaneously, their heads swiveled in the direction of Arthur's desk. His cell was vibrating angrily. Arthur hesitated, but at the fifth ring, reached over and glanced at the screen. Cursing, he reluctantly held the cell to his ear. "What is it, Alfred?" A pause. "Now?"

Yao had unsteadily gotten to his feet, his face hidden behind a curtain of black hair. Arthur grabbed his arm. "I'll be right back," he mouthed. "All right," he spoke into the phone. "I'll see you in bit." As Yao fumbled with his own clothes, Arthur threw on a shirt and trousers and marched out the door, bare-foot. He slammed the door behind him.

Alfred was waiting for him at the end of the deserted courtyard. In place of his usual amiable demeanor, he was standing stiffly and poker-faced, almost scowling. "You call that proper attire, soldier?"

"What is so important that you're calling me out here in the middle of the night?" Arthur snapped.

"The boss scrapped our plan to use Feliciano to lure out Ludwig."

"Oh, really?" Arthur responded in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "I heard it crystal clear in his office. You didn't have to-"

"But that's not why I'm out here." Alfred moved closer to the Britain. He lowered his voice. "Arthur. Stop seeing that Chinese interpreter. Fire him if you have to."

Arthur gaped. His mouth had suddenly gone dry.

"So it's true. Yes, I know about him." Alfred folded his arms. "Break up with him. That's an order."

"You mind telling me what the hell is going on?"

"I'll be honest, because we're old friends. The boss wants you to sever all contact with him. Okay? This isn't coming from me," and in that moment, a note of real regret was evident in Alfred's voice. "In fact, I convinced him not to have you get rid of him, and got him to agree to have you only stop seeing him. I can't tell you why this is happening. But you _have_ to, unless you want to see something happen to both of you."

The thinly veiled threat hung almost tangibly in the air. "Are you transferring him to another unit?" was what Arthur heard himself say.

"No. Just give me your word that you'll stop seeing him. That'll be good enough for the boss." Alfred wasn't enough of a fool to not comprehend how he was the commander's favorite.

"All right," Arthur said. Alfred's head shot up in surprise as Arthur smiled wanly. "If you promise no harm will come to him."

"It won't be from our end, Artie," Alfred said, putting a broad hand to the Britain's shoulder. "This is…You must really care about him."

"Just let me say good-bye."

Arthur turned his heel. Alfred watched as he disappeared into his quarters. With a sigh, he removed his glasses and peered into the unfocused night sky. His cell rang at that moment.

"Sir," he answered into the cell. "Yes. I told him." He waited a few moments as his commander laid out his next set of orders. "For Kiku? Yes. I'll call the Summer Palace tour office and have them set it up for the two of them tomorrow at noon."

* * *

><p>"How did you get these tickets?" Yao asked again. He was wearing a crown of spring flowers that Kiku had purchased for him from some local vendors. Throughout this tour, he had even patiently posed for seven or eight photos, as Kiku had insisted. In at least two of them, Xiao Dou was wearing the crown, while Yao was holding onto her round ears.<p>

"I told you. My superior officer mailed them to me at my library address," Kiku replied, with a hint of irritation. He was staring at a family of ducks lazily floating by in the river, from their place on an isolated bench. The expanse of the Summer Palace was enormous, and they were taking a break in the shade from their long walking tour. Xiao Dou was panting at Yao's feet. "He said it was for a job well done. Although… the reports I've been sending him have not amounted to anything near a breakthrough. I'm not sure exactly why—"

"Look!" Yao erratically stabbed a finger westward, across the river. "Dragon boats!"

Kiku frowned. "What is going on? Lately you've been acting as though incredibly distracted by something you're not telling me."

"I'm not Arthur's interpreter anymore," Yao answered, his head lowering. "He let me go."

"Yes, I know that," Kiku said impatiently. "It's not that, though. Something else is bothering you." He fixed his gaze on Yao's face. "Did you sleep with him?" he asked suddenly.

"Don't talk about such things." Yao kept his hand on his panda's head, not meeting the Japanese man's gaze. Kiku's eyes narrowed. Several moments of awkward silence ticked by, and Yao got onto his feet. Kiku leaned forward and grabbed Yao's slim hand. He tried to pull the Chinese boy towards him for a kiss. "Not _here_. Show some respect," Yao murmured.

Kiku tried to keep his tone light. It didn't work. "So you're all right with kissing that Brit in public, but I'm not good enough for you."

"Let's just go inside. It's getting cold out." The sun was going down, barely peeking over the horizon.

"You didn't answer me earlier when I asked if you slept with him." Several straggling onlookers raised their eyebrows as they passed the little group, and hurriedly picked up their paces.

"I don't have to answer that. The matter is irrelevant."

"How is it irrelevant?" Kiku's hand started shaking.

"I love you," Yao said, and from his voice he sounded as hurt as Kiku was feeling. "Isn't that enough?"

"No! _It's not enough_!"

Yao gasped as his chin was grasped, hard. Kiku said, in a voice like a steel trap, "I know you did. When were you going to tell me?"

"Stop," Yao pleaded, fear creeping into his voice.

"Answer me."

"It hurts!" Yao tried to twist away, and Kiku shoved him away from him. Yao skidded towards the end of the bench, looking up in hurt bewilderment. At that moment Xiao Dou reared to life. She scampered towards them and positioned herself squarely in front of her master, growling softly in Kiku's direction.

Kiku stood up. He seized Xiao Dou's nose and held it authoritatively until she stopped growling, and gathered her leash. "Where are you going?" Yao shouted after him.

"I'm taking her back to your house," Kiku had his hand on the panda's round head, as though he needed the support. "Then I'm going home. Need to take care of a few things."

"Kiku, wait!"

"No. I don't want to be seen with a filthy little Resistance whore," Kiku turned his back, intending for the words to inflict pain.

Yao stood stock-still. "You're one to talk," he finally said, in a voice that Kiku had never heard him use before. "All Federation spies are prostitutes. Selling their souls for a quick profit—you're traitors to humanity."

Xiao Dou whimpered, fighting the leash, trying to head back towards Yao. Kiku ushered her away quickly as they walked faster into the dusk. He was so angry that it blinded him. The two eventually disappeared into the crowd migrating towards the exit; the park was about to close.

Yao watched as the retreating figures grew smaller and smaller. With a sigh, he turned around towards the river and heard a faint rustle. From behind him, a man's arm wound around his waist.

"Don't move," an unfamiliar voice spoke into his ear. A shiny blade pressed against his throat. "If you even _breathe_, I'll cut your throat."

"What do you want? I have money," Yao replied. He had been mugged, months before.

"It's not money we want." The knife was kept to Yao's throat. "It's you, _sweetness_." The voice chuckled darkly. Yao's thoughts raced frantically; the voice belonged to neither Resistance nor Federation member as far as he could tell. In the next moment, there was a cloth around his eyes, another in his mouth, and his hands were secured behind him with a _click_ , cold, hard metal biting around his wrists.

"Get him in the car." Something sickly-sweet smelling was placed on Yao's nose, the fumes making him light-headed. He felt himself being lifted up, and he remembered nothing more of the kidnapping.

* * *

><p>"All right," Ludwig spoke heavily into the receiver. "We will provide him with what he needs." Behind his desk, Ivan watched closely as Ludwig hung up.<p>

"What was that about?" Ludwig almost jumped as the Russian came up behind him. It must have slipped his mind that Ivan had switched shifts and now worked nights; the drawback was that Ivan had missed a few crucial meetings.

As the German turned in his seat, Ivan was taken aback. Ludwig looked as though he hadn't slept in days. There was a new hollowness in his cheekbones, a clear indication he hadn't been eating well either. "Yao lost his job as the translator for Major Kirkland's duties," Ludwig started to explain. "He'll be away as I look for a new assignment for him."

"'Be away?'" Ivan repeated, a bit suspiciously. "Would it be impossible for him to help me out here, then? There's encryptions I need to have—"

"Ivan," Ludwig interrupted suddenly. He was staring past the Russian, apparently focusing on something far-off in the distance. "Have you ever been in love?"

Ivan cocked his head. Something very strange was going on, even by the standards of this strange orbit in which they rotated. Perhaps the lateness of the hour? He followed his instincts nonetheless. "Yes, a few times. I suppose."

"Truly."

Ivan thought a bit longer this time. "There were one or two."

"Would you have died for them?"

"Ludwig…?"

"Never mind." The German rubbed at the dark circles underneath his eyes. "You had better get back to—"

"I don't know," Ivan interrupted. His voice had changed and softened. "But, I want to say—yes. Because if I were in a position where I was being forced to make that choice, it would mean that _unless_ I gave in, they would have to die. And I'd rather not go on living without the one I love." He chuckled. "I think you'd find my persona even more intolerable than usual, if such a situation did occur."

Ludwig was fiddling with a Rubik's cube on his desk. It had been solved and re-configured and re-solved at least half a dozen times. But Ivan could tell he had been hanging on his every word; the German man held a very contemplative gaze, as though mentally gearing up to go through with a very hard decision. "Ivan, have you been following Circle?"

"Circle?" Ivan echoed. His brow furrowed instantly. The insidious pseudo-anarchic organization that had, until fairly recently, been closing in on both Federation and Resistance territories. The Circle hated what both governments represented, and made no secret of it. "No. I thought they had been wiped out a couple of years ago. After they struck a treaty with the Federation, the leaders tired of it and soon they disbanded."

"No."

"No?"

"They never disbanded completely. And they've recently acquired a new leader, and a plethora of wealthy sources to fund them. They were initially already operating in several first-world countries and now it's growing very, very quickly."

"What?" Ivan asked in disbelief. "How did this all happen? What on earth is the draw to this band of thugs?"

"You got me. But their target is us, Ivan. As well as the Federation. Matthew confirmed this with me the other day. They want us _gone_."

"Their new sources—is this really something to get a heart attack over?"

"Do nuclear warheads make you nervous?" Ludwig rubbed his temples. Ivan blinked. "Up until now, we suspected the Federation was building up to either attack or defend against a major force, and I am now certain it might have something to do with Circle. They," here Ludwig lowered his voice, and bowed his head. "—the Federation and I have struck a deal."

Ivan sat down, hard. Beside him, the leader of the Resistance closed his eyes. His smile broke the Russian's heart.


	7. Chapter 7

_The children almost broken by the world become the adults most likely to change it._

~Frank Warren

* * *

><p>Yao sat in total darkness, seeing nothing, sensing nothing, remembering the first man he had ever killed. Yao had been a child, only eleven years old, younger than Xiang Gang—no. Mustn't think of Xiang.<p>

Only eleven, and had been upstairs asleep. There was no adult in China who hadn't remembered those years, which they referred to as the Terror, during which the Federation—still in its early formation stages- had invaded and taken over the capital. Their presence, while it eventually brought a new type of stability to the region, was preceded by non-discriminatory looting, murders and chaos, much of it brought on by Federation mercenaries. That night it was their turn.

There was a bone-chilling crash at the door, the scream of Yao's stepmother, and the shrieking of small Wan as she woke up across the small room from him. Yao did not have to wonder what was happening. Despite his young age, such things could not be kept concealed from him, and he had seen the corpses shredded by shrapnel and strewn across the streets, had witnessed the stores and houses gutted out by fire as red as blood. Weeks prior, his father had taught Yao where the hunting-gun was kept, and how to aim it true.

Downstairs, Yao's stepmother would not stop screaming. Yao silently stole into his parents' bedroom and removed the hunting gun from its hiding place. He loaded it carefully as the muffled screams went on and on, and waited patiently until he heard a set of boot-clad footsteps stomp up the stairs. He knew he had only one shot.

The soldier paused at the top of the stairs. Yao felt no anxiety, had no second thoughts at what he was about to do. He pushed the door open and fired. The recoil of the weapon knocked his small body down. When he got to his feet again, the man was gone from his sight, having tumbled down the stairs. Still, his heightened senses didn't leave him. Yao loaded again, and crept cautiously to the top of the staircase. At the bottom, two more soldiers were kneeling over the body, and at that moment, both glanced up. If Yao had hesitated, they would have surely fired first and killed him—these were trained mercenaries with weapons that were much faster, state-of-the-art. But Yao did not hesitate. He fired again, and this time held his ground against the recoil, watching as the two men dropped from the explosion as the shell hit one man in the chest and blew straight through the other behind him.

Yao had no idea how he would be able to get down the stairs under fire to finish off the rest, but he intended to try. It turned out he didn't need to. His father was being held, forced to watch as the lead soldier was raping his wife. When three of the mercenaries were suddenly dead, Yao's father immediately told the other three, "You haven't got a chance. There's four of them upstairs and another dozen outside."

They believed him, and this was during the Terror, so they slit his throat, and stabbed Yao's stepmother five times. They left the ravaged house to return to their squad unit, or to another family's house, or to—Yao's parents died even as they fled. That night, something inherent changed in Yao. At eleven years old, he arranged for the proper burial of his parents, and, penniless after the funeral, made arrangements for Wan to be sent away to live with far-off relatives—despite numerous loud and desperate protests- for her own safety. The following morning he discovered another house that had been randomly attacked, its contents ransacked, its owners murdered, and their seven-year-old son hiding in the closet, so completely terrified that he refused to leave the space even after being discovered. That boy was Xiang Gang.

A few months later, a member of the then-burgeoning Resistance—Ivan- had found him and Xiang in a shelter, and recruited him. By the age of fifteen, Yao had helped organize a strong resisting unit that had forced the Federation forces to accept key negotiations and treaties, albeit under-the-table, to eliminate the violence and marauding on their side. Over the next few years, Yao and other members of the Resistance, almost all of whom had similar pasts which mirrored his, showed the Federation that they had the power and the will to enforce these treaties from their place in the shadows.

Yet in the moments when he first ran downstairs and saw his father spouting blood through his slashed throat, saw the three smoking corpses, saw his mother lying on the floor with a knife through her ribs, he had felt an incredible agony that had powered all his actions ever since. Even remembering that night left him sweating, more than a decade later. And at first it had been hate that had propelled him, forced him to brutally take out Federation spies who had crossed his path and who had been intent on stopping him, brought Yao to infiltrate their headquarters directly and do whatever the hell it took to get to their weakest spots and stab them there.

But somewhere along the way, the hate left him. Perhaps it was naturally gradual, as the night of death faded into memory and he began instead to shoulder the responsibility of caring for a young, choppy-haired boy with jewel-like eyes, who depended on him for food, shelter, love, and protection. The survival and coming-of-age of Wan, who grew into a tough, cold-mannered young woman that eventually made it back home to Beijing, had also made his goals change. Yao was no longer out to punish the wicked and the unjust, as he had once thought his mission in life to be. Now he focused on helping the Resistance establish a balance of power with the current Federation, a means of peace throughout the nation, to protect mankind from mankind—even though it would paradoxically require more spying and warring to force these quarreling governments to do so.

_I did this so that no other boy would ever have to stand there tonight with blood on his hands, knowing his loved ones are never returning home._

And yet he had not done well enough. Here he was, one of the Resistance's most valuable spies, kidnapped, drugged, blindfolded, bound to a chair, his hands manacled behind his back and held exactly twenty centimeters apart. The Federation was not kind towards spies and traitors. But he wasn't frightened of torture—he had acquired so many scars and wounds throughout the years of fighting the Federation that he knew he could handle pain reasonably well. It was the thought of Xiang Gang, of Wan, who would be wondering, in the next few hours, why their big brother wasn't home yet.

_Kiku_.

He felt his eyes moisten behind the blindfold.

"Are you awake?" he heard a voice ask him.

"Who are you?" Yao demanded in a hollow voice.

He heard the voice smirk. "Watch how you talk to free men, lovely." Suddenly the blindfold was ripped off. Yao blinked and focused on a tall man, with a bearded chin, who looked to be a sergeant of some kind, someone of high ranking. He didn't recognize him at all. Then again, it wasn't as though he was familiar with every Federation face.

And yet…

"What do you want with me?" Yao asked. The room was chilled and he shuddered—they had stripped him naked.

"We've been following you for a while," the man said by way of replying, taking out a key from his pocket. Yao flinched as the man stood up, circling him like a wolf, slinking around behind him. "You first piqued my interest about a month ago, when I attended one of your shows at the Federation headquarters recreation hall. You sent a bouquet of orange peonies as a thank-you gift to the Federation officers in charge of the hall."

Yao forced his bleary mind to focus, to concentrate. He swallowed.

"That's right," the man said, his mouth suddenly next to Yao's ear. "I am aware that those peonies were bugged. I am also aware that you sent your little brother to deliver them. You do good work for the Resistance. You're crucial to their operations, you know that, _Wang Yao_?"

Yao cried out as the man seized him in a headlock. With his free hand, he started unlocking Yao's handcuffs. "My men know where you live. They know that you've been seeing that English officer."

"What do you want?" Yao growled, nearly choking on the arm across his throat.

"You're to work for us now." As the man released him, Yao rubbed his neck, staring up at him in astonishment.

"You're not Federation," Yao finally said, his eyes widening, his growing suspicion reaching panicked levels. He knew who had him now.

His captor's face was darkening into a lecherous expression. "In the meantime," he was saying, "you're to stay in my chambers. I must admit, after hearing about you and that English… you've aroused my curiosity."

Yao leapt to his feet, but the drugs in his system had made his limbs weak and useless, and he collapsed easily. The man picked him up and threw him forcefully to the ground, his head slamming into the tiles. With his heel, the man rolled Yao onto his back and placed his boot on top of Yao's Adam's apple. "The Resistance's loss is the Circle's gain, and the Circle's gain is this nation's gain. War is so _expensive_," he grinned toothily here, bending and staring down into Yao's golden pupils. As the Chinese boy twisted and growled, the brute increased the pressure on his windpipe. "Why not just declare peace and get it over with? We won't force anyone to go to war for us. The Circle only wants complete freedoms for all people."

From the floor, Yao burst into laughter. The man's brow furrowed as Yao lapsed into a gratingly sarcastic tone. "'Complete freedom for the people?' How on earth will you feed them? You seriously believe that in destroying the current governments, without a solid and feasible plan for the future, the nation won't end up in an even worse state than before?" Yao turned his head to the side as though to spit. "You don't _care_ about the people at all."

"And how are YOU, or the Federation for that matter, helping them?" The man pushed his face merely a few inches from Yao's level on the floor. "You're harming them by helping them. We let nature run its course."

"Wait a minute! Humans DO need to be regulated. Haven't you ever read 'Lord of the Flies'? AACK!"

The man bared his teeth as he picked up the Chinese boy by his bruised throat and threw him, back-first, into one of the walls. "You won't be laughing at us for very long, _brat_. This first week will serve as your re-education period."

"My men will be looking for—" Yao's voice was cut off by a giant palm covering his mouth.

"Your organization will have disavowed you by now. If you even _think_ about going anywhere, I'll bring your little brother here and beat him to death in front of you. Now," the man was bringing his face closer to Yao's bruised neck, "hold still, or you'll pay dearly for it."

Yao closed his eyes and attempted to block out what was happening, tried to desensitize himself to the hands groping at his backside and lifting him up, rubbing his bare skin. _Kiku_, his mind silently cried, but that thought was lost as he felt something huge and unbelievably painful forcibly penetrating him, and immediately he lost consciousness.

* * *

><p><span>Temple of Heaven Complex<span>

"Wan, have you heard at all from Yao today?" Wan turned her head and shook it worriedly. Xiang Gang kept tapping the side of his cell against his thigh and staring off into the sunset. He was biting his lip.

"He's probably all right, Xiang," Wan said, reaching out for his hand and squeezing it. At that moment, a hazy figure materialized in the horizon.

"Yao?" Xiang Gang leapt to his feet. He ran several meters towards the figure, and then skidded to a halt. Wan squinted her eyes, then widened them in alarm.

About twenty yards away, the hazy figure stopped in its tracks. It dissolved and revealed itself to be actually comprised of two men, both dressed in dark trench coats, one trailing the footsteps of the other. The leader looked Xiang and Wan up and down as he approached them. He smiled and licked his lips.

* * *

><p><span>Resistance HQ<span>

"We are close to tracking down his real name, but the Head of the Circle organization goes by the moniker 'General Winter.' He's fully intent on wiping us out, and also, I believe, fully intent on making sure no one ever takes our places—no other government, no other 'resistance.'"

Ivan was silent. Ludwig didn't meet his eyes as he paused before resuming.

"Don't you see, Ivan. The new Circle is the Federation's current target. It was all along, for the past few months. It was never us."

Ivan finally opened his mouth. "What are you trying to say, Ludwig? Why haven't we started targeting him as well?"

The German smiled sadly. A prickle of fear ran down Ivan's spine as he slowly comprehended. "You have."

"Yao was the bait."

Ludwig didn't fight back as Ivan gathered up his shirtfront, his hands shaking so hard that the German's entire body was slightly trembling.

"Where is he?" Ivan's voice had risen barely below shout-level.

"He must still be alive. I don't know. He has been captured by Circle. I was informed a few hours ago, on the phone."

"Then where is he _now_? Did you put a bug on him?"

"They must have found it and gotten rid of it. But it doesn't matter. We'll get rid of the Head of Circle."

"_How_?" Ivan's neck veins were bulging.

* * *

><p>"Hey there, little lady," the leader smirked at Wan. "It's a beautiful night tonight, isn't it?"<p>

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The leader held up his hands. "Calm down. We're just out here for a stroll. You know," the leader lifted one corner of his coat, revealing a gun in its holster, which gleamed in the moonlight, "I have always wanted to visit the Temple of Heaven, here in China. Why don't you give me a tour?"

Xiang came up behind her. "I smell a rat," he said. "Hello there, rat."

"That's the kid," the other man spoke up behind the leader, who immediately stepped forward as though to seize Xiang. Wan was quicker and planted herself directly in front of the boy, intercepting him.

"Do we need to get both of them?" the leader directed towards his partner.

"I don't think it matters whether we bring back one, or both. That kid's his brother for sure, though." The partner was unfolding something that resembled a dark garbage sack. "Just grab him—the boss needs insurance that the Chinese spy follows his orders now."

"Where is Yao?" Wan demanded at once, her rough voice containing almost as much authority as her elder brother's.

"I'll tell you," the leader turned back to Wan. "You need to get out of the way, though. Or I'll march on back to where we're holding him, and stick my dick into your pretty big brother."

"That's nice. He's like your grandpa's age, you know?" Wan smiled crookedly, flexing a fist. "You like to go around having sex with senior citizens in the old folks' home, to get your kicks? Fucking sicko."

The leader's right hand immediately went to the holster on his belt.

"No!" Xiang cried.

The leader cocked his pistol and fired.

Xiang's screaming tore at her eardrums. The sounds were agonizing, more animal than human. Wan lifted her head.

The bullet had never hit her. She turned and gasped—the leader was lying, face-down on the ground, in a steadily-growing pool of his own blood. Raising her arms, she glimpsed a single neat bullet hole in the back of his skull.

Senses blazing, she scanned the field and spotted an Asian man, clad in a Federation uniform, pointing a gun squarely between the second attacker's eyes.

"_Give me the address_," the figure was saying.

* * *

><p>"Officer Kiku Honda of the Federation."<p>

Ivan let go of Ludwig at once. His strange violet eyes stared straight into Ludwig's sky blue ones. "That Japanese _Federation_ officer is going to assassinate the Head of Circle? Why would he -?" Here Ivan paused. Sunk into a chair. "No. Not my Yao."

Ludwig massaged his throat. "Some time ago, Officer Alfred Jones approached me on behalf of his boss, and arranged a meeting with me. We made a deal. We both wanted to eliminate Circle, once and for all. Having Kiku and Yao fall in love made it easy."

"No, no, _no_."

"We were uncertain at first about whether it would work. We were aware Yao met the Japanese boy by chance a few weeks ago, during that typhoon. Arranging for them to work in a close, intimate vicinity at the central library under the pretense that Yao was serving as the English officer's translator, and confirming with Alfred that Kiku could indeed secure that miserable librarian job, propelled them into becoming relaxed and familiar with one another, and eventually forming a close romantic bond.

"We needn't have worried. It worked almost _too_ well. Even I was starting to see that they care deeply for each other. It was crucial that we act fast—the euphoric feelings of new love are not permanent, and typically fade after several months. At this particular stage, Kiku's feelings for Yao and vice versa would be the strongest. Now that Yao is being held prisoner by Winter, Kiku will stop at nothing to get him back, and will undoubtedly be only too eager to fulfill his orders to assassinate the Head."

"What you're saying is… from almost the very beginning, the Federation and the Resistance _planned_ to have Yao and Kiku fall in love, and use this to their advantage—in order to eliminate a common enemy."

They looked at each other.

* * *

><p>That voice. A Japanese accent.<p>

Wan and Xiang watched, open-mouthed, as the black-haired Federation officer kneed the other man in the chest. As the man wheezed and hunched, the officer delivered a sharp elbow to the small of the man's back. Xiang snapped out of it and dashed towards them. He leapt into the air, delivering a perfectly angled kick to the man's jaw. Their attacker tumbled to the ground. The Federation officer grabbed Xiang's arm.

"Stop. I need him alive."

"No. You don't." Trembling, Wan held out the man's cell, which had fallen from his belt onto the grass. She had already hacked and unlocked it. "I can trace this." She looked over the rim of the cell phone, towards the fallen attacker, her eyes brimming over with anger.

Kiku looked over at the body. His eyes had rolled back and his lips had flecks of foam; he was semiconscious.

"Who are you?" Xiang demanded at Kiku.

"Xiang," Wan breathed, "He's got Xiao Dou!" The panda, who had been stowed away under the roof of a small, abandoned shack at the edge of the field, emerged from hiding.

"A friend of Yao's," Kiku replied to Xiang, putting his arms around his panda's neck. He stopped, and withdrew them shakily, leaving some of the white parts of her fur spotted with blood from his hands. The panda sat on her plump haunches and leaned against his leg, as though trying to provide comfort to him.

"Yao's in trouble," Xiang said. "If _you're_ Federation and you're on the lookout for him, then… who took him?" His eyes widened. "Don't tell me?..."

Kiku's eyes had darkened. "I think I know who might be able to help us find out. You're coming with me to Federation headquarters."

* * *

><p>"Ivan. It killed me to do that to Yao." Despite his words, Ludwig gave no outward indication that he wanted sympathy. "But ultimately, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."<p>

"We're despicable," Ivan said softly. His hands, which only moments before had been wound around Ludwig's throat, were lying uselessly in his lap. "Our governments… we regard…we use spies as nothing more than expendable pawns in a dangerous, complex chess game."

"People in our occupation can't afford to fall in love, Ivan," Ludwig replied bluntly. "It only brings about the end of them." He started as he realized that tears were silently rolling down Ivan's face.

Balking for a moment, Ludwig tried to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, when a sudden realization dawned on him. He couldn't move.

"_Yao_…" Ivan whispered. He looked across the room at the cryptography tools lying on his desk, and closed his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Be sure to check out Hasegawa-sama's delightful new story "Faithfully Yours," featuring adult!Yao and child!Arthur in a cleverly crafted AU at .net/s/7681175/1/Faithfully_Yours. It's absolutely terrific! :)

* * *

><p>Yao was weightless. He saw the whole of Beijing spread below him, but at night, the millions of twinkling lights shining like stars.<p>

Beside him someone else was flying. The face was familiar, but he did not remember why. The man was tall, and wearing a sergeant's uniform. The man looked at him placidly, but then reached out towards him while pulling out a dagger from inside the folds of his jacket, and suddenly Yao was very frightened, and the man was trying to plunge the dagger in Yao's heart while roughly ripping open his shirt with the other hand. Yao struck out at the man, and the sergeant fell from the air with a look of utter astonishment and was smashed into pieces in the city square. Yao stared at the crumpled, bleeding body, and suddenly felt the terrible weight of responsibility. He looked up, and the stars were falling, the entire earth was plunging into the sun, and great, silent crowds were marching over an enormous, daunting cliff to nowhere. With a cry he glimpsed Xiang's, Wan's, Ivan's, and Ludwig's faces in the crowds. However much he wept and screamed for them to stop, they would not listen, and then suddenly his own screaming woke him up.

That, and the sudden jerk of something fastened around his neck—the Chinese boy lunged backwards to prevent himself from choking. Winter was snoring and twitching erratically beside him, and the handle of the leather leash tied to Yao's collar was firmly attached around his own wrist. Yao grasped the sides of his head and closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.

The Head of Circle was a light sleeper and Yao could not risk creeping away from the bed without waking him up. Earlier, as though to override Yao's cries during his brutal interrogation and gang rape by several members of the secret Circle police, Winter had loudly proclaimed that he would hobble Yao's ankles if he ever caught him trying to run; judging from a couple of inmates who dragged their feet at a snails' pace around the compound, Yao did not take this threat lightly.

He needed help. He sat, cross-legged on the bed next to Winter's gigantic sleeping form, and began to meditate. Taking a few deep, rhythmic breaths, he warmed his _qi_. Within a few moments, his breathing relaxed and became very slow.

_Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage_.

He opened his eyes. A soft chuckle sounded a few feet away. Winter was awake, his icy fingers playing with the end of the leash. "Bad dream, little traitor?" His voice was laced with false concern.

Yao might have been radiating outward calm, but the close proximity to Winter nevertheless made him want to vomit. "You're a heartless bastard," he started, "and if I hadn't given my word, long ago, to become a better man than you and your ilk, I'd tear you end to end."

General Winter chortled. "If I weren't a heartless bastard," he finally responded with a smile, "I wouldn't have gotten to be the head of the most powerful syndicate in the world." He tugged sharply on the leash. "Come over here and tell me more of your life in the Resistance. I want to hear again about how that worthless bastard grandson of mine is 'assisting' you by coding and de-coding little puzzles all night." Yao didn't budge.

"I'd rather die," Yao finally replied.

"You will, when the time comes. But for now, you'll do what I tell you."

Yao set his fists into the mattress, digging his heels, posed as though to fight the leash with every ounce of energy he possessed. At this, Winter drooled lecherously, like an animal stricken with rabies, and gave the leash a huge, very powerful yank. But this was a mistake.

Instead of resisting, Yao made a roundabout and used Winter's own physical force against him. He flew unexpectedly towards the hulking figure, striking out with his right hand while propelling his body forward as though it were weightless. With a cry, Winter was knocked onto his back. Yao didn't waste a millisecond. Reaching out, his fingers skillfully curled into manipulative positions, he attacked the pressure points adjacent Winter's carotid artery and along his arms, rendering the man momentarily paralyzed and in considerable pain. The entire ordeal lasted approximately four seconds.

Only then did Yao catch his breath. His bones ached from the impact of his blows. He gathered the leash—there was no time to find something to cut it with—and, pulling the black bed sheet over his nude body, scrambled towards the doorway.

"You stupid, _little_ fool," he suddenly heard Winter's gasping croak. Reeling, Yao twisted his head backwards. "I was planning—" Winter's face was tight with pain as blood trickled thinly from his mouth, "—planning to adopt you as my heir."

Yao was struck dumb. Shaking his head, panic and nausea threatening to completely override his senses, he flew out the doorway. Looking about, his heart sank as he realized how very dark the corridors were—no doubt they were sealed somewhere underground—and though he couldn't immediately detect any Circle mercenaries even in his peripheral vision; he was acutely aware that the mercenaries were nearby, high in number, and patrolling the perimeters very tightly.

Sure enough, a moment later he heard men's voices in the corridor just ahead, and ducked back-first into a corner. Unfortunately, he practically bumped into a Circle soldier who had been patrolling merely a few feet away from Winter's private quarters. Yao struggled as the man caught his arms in an iron grip. "Now what have we here?" the soldier leered, pulling on Yao's hair in order to get an unobstructed view of his face. "You must have tried to make a break from the interrogation room." He grinned lecherously as his eyes greedily devoured Yao's face, raking up and down his slim naked body.

Yao tried to head-butt him, but the soldier anticipated this and tightened his grip on the silky black locks, rendering him immobile. Yao whimpered. "Hmm," his captor said, "This _is_ my lucky day," as his right hand traveled down, cupping Yao's ass. Squeezing it, he then started removing something from his belt. The Chinese boy watched helplessly as the soldier slowly raised a taser towards his neck, ready to knock him senseless. He shut his eyes.

There was an abrupt, short scream in Yao's ear, followed by a gust of wind and an enormous thudding noise. Hyperventilating, Yao opened his eyes. The soldier who had apprehended him was laying face-first on the floor. Yao lifted his gaze immediately and locked his golden eyes into a pair of bottle-green ones.

"_Arthur_?" he said, his voice incredulous.

Arthur covered his mouth right away. "I'm here to rescue you," he whispered. He clutched the Chinese boy's hands. "You called me." Before Yao could get out another word, Arthur reached down and whipped up the black bed sheet. He wrapped Yao up in the black sheet, covering him up to his face, and lifted the boy up off his feet, bridal-style. "I brought a team with me," Arthur said. "They're going to get us out."

"Up here, Kirkland," he heard an American-accented voice call out.

Yao felt dizzy as he was enveloped within the strong arms. He sensed that Winter had not yet regained his strength to summon the rest of the guards after them, but he was aware that they had precious little time; the deadly pressure-point attack that Yao inflicted had only incapacitated the Head, when it would have killed a normal man. Arthur ran as swiftly as he could through the corridors with Alfred flanking his side, readying his pistol towards any shadows creeping along the walls. For several minutes, they took a complicated route, zigzagging, darting in and out of enclosed spaces, at one point pressing themselves flat against a southern wall as the heavy clatter of boots passed through a nearby corridor.

_They must have mapped this place out beforehand_, Yao thought. _The Federation spies were targeting this Circle headquarters probably all this time in Beijing._ God knows how long that had taken, and how deep the spies had to be within the Circle network.

"What are you doing here?" they suddenly heard a voice roar. A huge, six-foot-tall Circle soldier emerged from one of the shadowy corridors, and stood there, directly blocking their path. Alfred cursed and raised his pistol to kill as the other's hand went towards his own holster. Before Alfred could fire a shot and give away their location, the Circle soldier's eyes suddenly widened in surprise. He took a step forward, and started to fall face-first. A pair of arms materialized from behind him and caught his torso before it could make a deafeningly loud impact against the floor.

"Thanks, Yong-Soo," Arthur nodded towards the Korean, who poked his head out from behind the fallen Circle soldier. Yong-Soo pointed towards the front of the hall. "The way out is right there. We're almost there. Good work following my directions," he added.

"The hatch," Alfred said, following Yong-Soo's finger. "What about the surface patrollers?"

"Gilbert."

They made their way to the ladder and one-by-one, climbed up towards the hatch, Arthur balancing Yao's limp body on one shoulder. As Yong-Soo cracked the opening of the hatch, the moonlight pierced Yao's eyes like a laser. It was overwhelming and yet he almost wept tears of relief at being freed from that nightmarish underground lair, away from the stifling, inky blackness of the maze-like corridors. As Alfred shut the hatch securely, Yao looked down from Arthur's arms at the bodies of the guards who'd been previously standing watch.

A hundred feet away, Gilbert and Francis were waiting in a Circle-issued Jeep. But as soon as they had settled in and Gilbert had started the vehicle, Alfred abruptly turned to Yao, his face like a clay mask. Without a word he grabbed a handful of the bed sheet encasing Yao and tore it off the Chinese boy, while simultaneously removing some short cords from the pack on his own belt.

"What are you doing?" Arthur exclaimed in an angry, surprised voice.

"Have you forgotten that he's still a Resistance spy," Alfred retorted, taking Yao's hands and quickly tying them together with the cords.

"Wait a minute! I didn't ask you to help me just so you could arrest him!" Arthur yelled, beyond furious.

"Our current objective may be Circle, but this one is a wanted enemy of the state, and as such he must be tried for his crimes against the Federation." Using his teeth, Alfred was ripping the fabric of the bed sheet into rectangular strips. He turned Yao around a bit roughly, blindfolding and gagging him as well with the fabric strips.

"Tie his feet too," Gilbert spoke up while keeping his eyes on the road. "In case he tries to jump out of the car."

A subdued, somewhat reluctant Yong-Soo had to hold Arthur back as Alfred tied Yao's ankles together and then, for good measure, hoisted him up and clung to him firmly so that Yao was nearly on his lap.

"Arthur, restrain yourself, or you will be arrested," Francis was warning him in a low voice. Arthur, however, continued to struggle against the Korean's grip.

The harsh wind whistled through the windowless Jeep and Yao couldn't help but shiver. To his puzzlement, he felt Alfred draw him closer to his chest so that the top of Yao's head brushed against his chin, better shielding him from the elements. Seemingly to explain his actions, Alfred muttered, "You can't be tried at court if you catch your death of cold beforehand." His voice, though it tried to sound stern, was rather gentle.

A particularly cruel blast of wind billowed against Yao, and he couldn't help but huddle closer against Alfred's chest. The American was shifting and squirming a bit. Being blindfolded had heightened Yao's other senses, and he could feel the American stealthily moving his hands as though to take something from his belt, followed by… soft beeping noises, as though Alfred were… texting from a cell phone?

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH!

"The warning alarm!" Arthur breathed, forgetting in that moment to struggle.

"'Bout time," Gilbert grinned wickedly.

"They'll be looking for us in earnest now," Alfred said, hurriedly stowing away his cell or whatever he had been tinkering with, and, unbeknownst to Yao, earning a "duh" look from everyone else in the cab due to the obviousness of his statement. From all directions, men's voices and the telltale noises of starting engines were materializing in the darkness.

"Gilbert! Dim the lights!" Yong-Soo snapped.

"Yong-Soo, help me navigate us the hell out of here," Gilbert retorted as he spun the steering wheel. The Circle compound was expansive and there were sentries at every post. Previously inactive, the roads sprang to life as several other identical Jeeps started trailing each other, and soldiers who had been called out of sleep from their barracks began milling the grounds on foot.

"Just keep heading west on this road," Yong-Soo instructed. "Yes. There will be a fork coming up and you'll have to take the left."

"They'll be inspecting every vehicle that exits the compound with a fine-tooth comb!" Arthur said.

"This isn't one of the main exits." Yong-Soo turned back towards him. "I found this passage about a week ago. Only the Generals and higher-ups of the Circle know about it and use it."

"Nice work, Korean," Francis said, impressed.

Yong-Soo never turned down a compliment. "Keep bearing west, Gilbert. We won't be off the compound for about another 10 miles from this point. Don't follow the other Jeeps too closely, but don't try to shake off anyone who's trailing us or it'll look suspicious." He turned to the rest of the cab. "The rest of you. Wrap the Resistance spy in the sheets again and remember above all to keep his face hidden. If we get stopped, keep your wits about you—pretend that we just got woken up from the barracks, and we're also looking for the spy. Remember, if they catch a glimpse of him in this car, we are as good as dead!"

* * *

><p>Xiang's eyes looked unfocused, nearly dead to Kiku, and the Japanese man felt increasingly awkward standing there until Xiang opened his mouth. "<em>Ge-ge<em> was dating a Federation officer this whole time?"

"Has he lost his mind?" Wan said, echoing her boyfriend's sentiments exactly. She was on her feet as well, appraising Kiku over as though he were a work horse on sale at the marketplace. Kiku was stoic, but the hairs at the back of his neck stood on end as she stepped back with an unsure, inconclusive look on her face.

"You have no idea how odd this feels, talking earnestly to one of you Federation people face-to-face," Wan said heavily, taking a seat at last.

"_Ge-ge_ has _never_ gotten caught," Xiang said bitterly, his eyes now resembling translucent yellow jewels submerged in water. "Not once. Never in over ten years."

"I don't know specifically why they took Yao," Kiku said in a low voice-as though to himself- with his mouth set grimly in a determined line, "but I intend to find him, kill whoever took him, and bring him back safely."

"Someone _betrayed_ him, somebody must have sold him out!" Wan grabbed Xiang's shoulders as he practically flung himself at the Japanese man.

"Listen!" Kiku snapped at Xiang, who seemed taken aback at the Japanese man's sudden burst of emotion. "The only thing that matters _now_ is getting him back. Now that we traced his whereabouts using that Circle spy's cell phone, it's what I have been dreading. Yao is being held at the Circle headquarters. This base is on the outskirts of the city and comprises several thousand square feet. There are mercenaries _everywhere_, there are cameras and patrol units everywhere you look- General Winter's main basis of operation is there, in the very heart of the base; it's the most heavily protected compound in the entire country."

"Is there anyone at Federation that can help us?" Wan said, her face white and her mouth set in an angry line. "Yes, this sounds absurd and unbelievable, a Resistance member asking the Federation for help—but please, for Yao- tell us if there might be anyone who knows the layout of the compound."

Kiku stared at her for several moments that felt like hours. He had stayed alive this long by refusing to submit to desperate requests like these, by keeping the matters of his head and heart separated, by defaulting complete and unquestioned loyalty to his organization. But at that moment, Wan's eyes so resembled Yao's sad golden ones that it brought tears to his own eyes. He was, after all, only human.

"We have a mole, very deep on their side, who's been reporting back to us and has managed to send us blueprints of their headquarters over the course of the past year."

"A Federation mole at Circle headquarters?"

"That's not all. Using his expertise, he and some of our team have set up an elaborate web of bombs within and around the main Circle headquarters that can be detonated at any time by a single-step command from the Federation control room. Enough to take out Winter's main command center and estimated to up to 60% of the compound itself. That particular project took merely half a year. He was amazingly efficient."

"His name, Kiku. We must contact him at once so that he'll help us get to Yao," Wan pleaded. "We will never ask anything of you ever again."

"Im Yong-Soo."

There was a loud, hacking cough from the prone figure on the floor. Three pistols were cocked and immediately aimed at its head. The surviving assailant who had attacked them at the Temple of Heaven complex was waking up. He blinked, looking upwards at the harsh light, at the three formidable faces glaring down at him. He smirked. "If you are planning on rescuing your precious boy, he's already dead."

"You're lying," Xiang said immediately.

"I haven't returned in my allotted time. They know you're onto them. He's a goner."

"_Tzuai neu_," Wan hissed. "Don't you move."

Their assailant only smiled and, as they kept their pistols aimed, started slowly reaching into the folds of his torn trench coat. Suddenly, he struck out towards Xiang Gang's ankle, clawing and pulling so that Xiang lost his balance and fell to the floor. Kiku yelled, but Wan shrieked and pulled the trigger, firing at the attacker's head. As he slumped onto his stomach, Xiang struggled back on his feet. He caught Wan in his arms and held her as she buried her face in his shoulder.

The man's trench coat unfolded, came apart, and something clattered onto the floor. With one upwards sweep of his arm, Kiku prevented the other two from approaching as he stepped forward. As he recognized the shape of the object on the floor, the Japanese man paled at once. It was a little white-jade pendant in the shape of a miniature panda, Kiku's gift to Yao from some time ago. Xiang's mouth fell open as he recalled how Yao had carried it with him wherever he went.

White-faced, Kiku reached down and pocketed the pendant. He stood and, with one heel, rolled the dead man onto his back. As Wan and Xiang watched in horror, Kiku walked calmly over to where his cell lay on his desk. He flicked it open and his eyes rove the screen as though searching for something. He faltered, and punched in a single-digit number.

The receiver picked up immediately.

"Detonate it," Kiku said simply into the cell. "The Circle compound. Detonate the bombs now."

"Kiku!" Xiang screamed, trying to wrench the cell from Kiku; with his free arm, the Japanese man shoved him away. "He's lying!"

"Yao is dead," Kiku replied, showing amazing control in his voice, though his hands shook.

"This doesn't _prove_ that Yao is dead!" Wan shouted. "Honda," she began, her voice cracking as she flung back her head, "my brother killed the murderers of our parents when he was eleven years old. I was sent away, but he survived the Terror on the streets of Beijing. The fact that that man has that pendant doesn't mean anything. Yao isn't so easily killed!"

"He is dead. What does it matter?" Kiku turned back to the cell. His fist was clenching the pendant in his pocket. "Burn it all down."

* * *

><p>"Come on," Alfred's hands were slippery with sweat as he tried to handle his cell. He had been trying to get through to Kiku's line for many minutes. At the wheel, Gilbert stared straight ahead as they continued to pass the other Jeeps. They were now only a scant three miles away from the hidden exit from the compound.<p>

The messages wouldn't go through; the line was busy, the reception in these isolated outskirts was non-existent. "Kiku," Alfred half-prayed, clutching onto Yao's mute, wrapped form, trying the number yet again, "don't detonate it yet. Not yet. We just need a little more time!"


	9. Chapter 9

"Why isn't this working?" Alfred punched in the numbers, fumbled for his other cell, tried to control the shaking of his hands as he desperately attempted to reach Kiku. Suddenly, Gilbert swore and the car nearly swerved off the road as he slammed on the brakes. Francis looked out the window, and his heart sank; a line of heavily-armed Circle soldiers was standing practically shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the exit—which was a mere half mile away.

"You there! HALT!" The barrel of a gun was shoved nearly into Gilbert's left eye through the side window of the Jeep.

"Ease up, bro, what is this about?" The Prussian turned his head slowly.

"Out of the vehicle. Now," the Circle sentry replied. He slowly removed his gun, away from Gilbert's face. "We need to do a full sweep and inspection."

Gilbert tipped his cap at the soldier and made as though to turn off the engine. Instead, he turned around and muttered over his shoulder, "Fasten your seat belts." His foot pressed the accelerator to the carpet.

The line of Circle soldiers broke apart, its members hollering as they leapt out of the way of the oncoming vehicle. The Jeep plowed full-speed ahead, past the barrier of the exit and into the thickly wooded area surrounding the compound. The roar of the engine was enough to drown out Yao's screaming at the top of his lungs. For several heart-stopping minutes, Gilbert calmly and indiscriminately ran over logs, shrubs, and other obstacles, with dirt and bits of pavement flying up from the tires as his passengers bounced violently in the back seats. In the meantime, with one hand on the steering wheel, Gilbert got out his cell. Pursing his lips, he pressed a couple of digits.

"They're firing at us!" Arthur screamed. A procession of Jeeps was in hot pursuit behind them.

Gilbert bellowed, "DUCK!" A shell broke the rearview mirror, another nearly hit him in the shoulder. The Jeep veered sharply, and they slid several feet down a ridge—with enough momentum to momentarily disappear from the immediate sight of their pursuers, but fortunately without enough inertia to flip the vehicle over completely. The Jeep skidded a few feet after reaching the bottom of the ridge.

"Gilbert, WATCH OUT-!"

Gilbert hit the brakes a microsecond before the Jeep hit the base of the tree. The car merely tapped against the base. After shaking himself off, Gilbert glanced at the compass application on his cell. "Hmm. Perfect." He set the Jeep in park, and unbuckled himself. "What are you doing?" Arthur demanded, his voice trembling like a leaf.

"Everybody, get out of the car _now_. Follow me. That's an order!"

Yao felt himself being lifted up like a rolled-up rug being brought to market, and carried over Alfred's shoulder. Their pursuers had likely noticed the fallen Jeep by now, and were making their way over to it.

The Federation spies (and Yao) ran fluidly through the dark, thick woods, not pausing until they came to a wide plane without trees. Gilbert held up his hand. "Stop." A harsh breeze was whistling prominently through the trees, which transformed a second later into a shrill, whining roar.

"Gilbert," Yong-Soo started, as the ground started reverberating, "is this what I think it-?"

They jumped when they heard the propellers in earnest. A small, stealth, lightweight black helicopter was making its way towards them. Francis balked, and took out a flare from his belt, lighting it. Gilbert grabbed at his arm. "No, _don't_!"

The flare shot into the sky. "There!" Ivan turned in his pilot's seat, grasped the controls of the 'copter and started to touch down. As he looked down, his eyes widened in alarm as he saw the small Federation team form a tight semicircle. He let out of a stream of curses as they readied their guns and start firing towards the woods.

As soon as the flare had lit the night sky, their Circle pursuers had honed in on their location. The hail of whining bullets was quick and brutal, and made even more frightening in the pitch dark woods. Yong-Soo cocked his gun, emptying it towards the spaces between the trees, re-loading, grinding his teeth as he tried to buy more time for Ivan to land.

"Arthur!" Alfred suddenly screamed. Yao raised his head in alarm. He tried to squirm his way out of the bed sheet, but Alfred sensed this and tightened his grasp.

The Britain lurched forward as Francis caught him in his arms. The wind generated from the propellers nearly buffeted the men away from where they stood. As the whirring of the helicopter engine grew unbearably louder, Ivan finally touched down. "Get in!" he yelled, unlocking the door. Alfred ran inside carrying Yao, followed by Yong-Soo, half-turned around and still unloading a couple more shots towards their assailants; finally Francis, who was supporting Arthur, crawled in last.

Inside the cabin, Arthur's breathing was shallow and his face was pasty. Francis was binding up the right side of Arthur's chest, which was starting to turn cherry red. The shell had pierced through the bullet-proof vest he had been wearing, but the damage would have been far worse if he had foregone the vest. There was a ripping sound as Yao burst from the shredded bed sheet, fighting frantically against his bonds; Alfred grabbed him and firmly took ahold of one ear to still him. "Gilbert," Alfred said darkly, glancing backwards at Ivan in the pilot's seat, as he attempted to hold down Yao, "what is this?"

Nursing his grazed arm, Gilbert only stared blankly at him, as though Alfred were transparent. The gaze, however innocuous, was frigid as ice.

"You're Resistance," Yong-Soo said. It was a statement, not a question, and totally devoid of emotion. "Have you been working for them this whole time?..."

"You…" Alfred kept his arms wrapped tightly around Yao. The blindfold had fallen off Yao's eyes and he was staring across the cabin in frozen horror at the sight of Francis trying desperately to staunch Arthur's bleeding. The Chinese boy made a muffled, anxious cry through the gag. "You… dirty…I trusted… so many years working with you…" Alfred, shaking with rage, mouthed towards Gilbert.

_Click_.

Gilbert cocked his Magnum towards Alfred. "You may let my colleague go now, if you would be so kind."

In response, Alfred only clutched Yao closer to him. The Chinese boy struggled harder, emitting small, desperate noises through the gag, and Alfred grabbed onto one of his sharp hips. Yao bucked against his touch in surprise. "Be quiet," Alfred muttered in his ear, "or I'll teach you a lesson _right here_," he threatened as he slowly traced two fingers down Yao's naked backside, halting them at his entrance.

"Did you not hear what I said?" Gilbert exclaimed in an incredulous voice. He waved the Magnum in the air. "Let him go!"

"You have any idea how long we've been trying to track down this one? Besides, you're not going to shoot," Alfred replied. "It'll bring down the entire—"

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-OOOO-BOOOO-OOOMMMMM!

* * *

><p>"<em>No<em>," Wan said. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and she crashed to the ground. From his pleading position on his knees, Xiang's hands on Kiku's leg shook, slowly lowering towards the floor.

There was a terrible, terrible, numbing silence; and then the receiver crackled to life on Kiku's cell.

"Accomplished. Immediate damage to Circle headquarters is currently estimated at 49% percent."

Kiku shut the cell with a snap, directing his gaze towards the window. Tears streamed down his face.

* * *

><p>Nightmare.<p>

Alfred groaned, feeling as though his head were splitting in a thousand pieces as he opened his eyes. He blinked, and every muscle in his body seemed to protest with pain. He wasn't sure whether he was alive or in heaven, and it took him several moments to realize he was looking at the interior of the helicopter that had lifted them away from Circle headquarters.

Raising himself on one elbow, he groaned loudly. His very bones throbbed from the aftershocks of the massive detonation, even several thousand feet above the earth. "Still alive?" he heard a Korean-accent voice ask him. Alfred rolled over to his side, and with a start, realized that Yao was not anywhere near him.

"The 'copter is shaken up a bit, but otherwise all right," Ivan was reporting to Gilbert from his pilot's seat. A few feet away, the long-haired Chinese was curled up next to Arthur's prone but steadily-breathing form. Alfred's eyes narrowed as he saw that Yao had been freed, and was currently rubbing his wrists to restore circulation. He reached for his own belt, and realized it was missing.

"You took away our guns!" he snapped towards Gilbert, as he looked around and noticed that Yong-Soo, Francis, Arthur; his Federation team had been de-armed as well.

"If you hadn't noticed, we just saved all your asses, you Federation dog," Gilbert snapped back. "Fair's fair."

"Arthur," Yao moaned softly in the Britain's ear. He twined his arms around Arthur's body, pressing his cheek into Arthur's unshaven one. Arthur's eyes were closed, but his breathing was steady; his lids fluttered at Yao's touch. "We need to get him to a hospital immediately," Francis said urgently to Ivan. "There's one on the Federation base. It's nearest to where we are now, and the best equipped for miles around."

"Can't do it," Gilbert said from the copilot's seat.

"If you don't let us off there, he'll die!"

Yong-Soo spoke up. "On behalf of my team, I give you my word. I won't turn you in at the base."

Gilbert let out a short, mirthless laugh. "But the moment we leave, you'll be sending your own 'copters on our tail!"

Yong-Soo and Francis glanced at each other. "Twenty minutes," Yong-Soo finally said, after a pause. "We'll give you a window of twenty minutes from the moment you drop us off."

"One hour," Ivan replied.

"Half an hour."

"Forty-five minutes."

"All right." Alfred's head shot up, but Yong-Soo ignored him. The air between them became tense in that moment. Suddenly, Alfred's cell rang.

"_Dongjing_," he said abruptly into the receiver, and Yao widened his eyes. "Good call on the detonation. We'll be arriving soon at the base in a MH-60 Black Hawk in approximately ten minutes." Here Alfred paused as the caller spoke for a bit. "I see."

Alfred shut the cell. "Winter's dead."

Yong-Soo let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Alfred put his cell away, saying, "His central command is completely destroyed. No survivors reported in that perimeter." _All that death_, his mind spoke, but he did not add. Instead, he looked towards the floor. The atmosphere in the cabin took on an air of quiet somberness.

"Mein Gott," Gilbert enunciated slowly. He raised one hand and gently put it on Ivan's shoulder, whose face was emotionless, staring straight ahead.

* * *

><p>"You can't stay here till morning. But for now I'll let you rest."<p>

Kiku turned away from Xiang Gang and Wan, who were both sitting on the floor. Xiang's back was bent like an old man's; he was weeping and had his face buried in his hands, and Wan was looking upwards at the ceiling, tiny trickles of blood coming from the bald spots on her head, where she'd torn out strands of hair. Kiku walked out the door and towards the tarmac, where the helicopter was targeted to land; when he was out of their sight, he collapsed, crumpling to the pavement.

Kiku cried. He had let himself need Yao, and now, the worst thing anyone could do to him was to take Yao away. Kiku had let himself grow weak. At the least, he hoped that the death of Winter and this destruction of Circle headquarters would serve as a stroke of justice for the murder of the Chinese boy. He lay there in the dark, clutching the small panda-shaped pendant, trying to control his sobbing while letting out short, raggedy intakes of breath.

CLOP, CLOP, CLOP…. The black stealth helicopter was touching down, and Kiku raised himself up slowly, not particularly caring at the moment if he were squashed like an insect. He shielded himself from the glare of the lights as the 'copter made a swift, efficient landing.

Francis and Yong-Soo hoisted Arthur up, each carrying one limp arm across their shoulders. As Ivan lowered the ladder, they exited first. Alfred got up curtly and made his way over to the door as well.

"I'm coming with you," he heard a soft voice behind him. Whirling in surprise, he came face-to-face with Yao, blankets wrapped around his skinny body, his eyes downcast.

"Yao?" Gilbert exclaimed. "What is this? I thought I heard you say—"

"You heard correctly," Yao replied, turning to face him. "I'm turning myself in."

Gilbert's mouth literally hung open at these words. In the pilot seat, Ivan sat, unmoving. The Prussian shook his head and suddenly lunged at Yao, gripping one wrist. "Let's go. I'm not in the mood for jokes."

Yao's arm went slack; before Gilbert knew what was occurring, Yao had swiftly wriggled his wrist from the Prussian's grasp, and was standing a whole six feet apart from him.

"Damn your kung f-you've lost it, haven't you?" Gilbert snarled. "Are you tired of living? Do you want to end up like Warsaw, like Vilnius? Quit fucking around, Yao, I clearly haven't got all day."

"No."

"If you so much as set a toe outside, I'll tie you up and throw you in this helicopter, Yao."

"You couldn't get anywhere near me."

"Yao," a Russian-accented voice pleaded. Yao raised his head and looked directly into Ivan's deep, exotically violet pupils.

"I'm sorry, Ivan." Yao appeared to be struggling to speak. In that moment he was suddenly overcome with the desire to reach out and embrace the Russian, but he couldn't move.

Ivan was not a foolish man. He could be kind if he wanted, and cruel as well, but not without limits. His capacity for love, however, was as a bowl without a bottom. And when it came to Yao, Ivan's love for him came also with a sense of responsibility, for the small boy he had found in the city shelter that day so many years ago and who he had helped teach and mold into a fellow brother-in-arms. Now, to watch as the adult Yao evidently choose death over him, took every ounce of self-control he possessed to not break down right then and there.

"I—want to thank you for everything." Yao's voice was husky with regret. "But this is my decision."

"You're choosing him, over the Resistance? Over your brothers? Over _us_?" Ivan's voice had risen very sharply, and Yao blinked. Ivan waited for a moment, and then turned away, lowering his face. Yao's silence was answer enough.

Alfred said, "If you turn yourself in, I may be able to get you a reduced sentence. No promises though." He reached out and grasped Yao's hand tightly.

"Yao," Ivan said, this time with desperation evident in his voice, "you have stayed alive all these years by not taking such chances."

"Until Dongjing-_Kiku_ came," Yao answered painfully, "I did not know what I was staying alive _for_."

With one last look, he turned his heel, and allowed Alfred to lead him away as they exited the helicopter. Gilbert and Ivan watched in silence.

As Yao's billowing black hair disappeared from his view, Gilbert turned around angrily. He blinked back a few tears. "Let's go," he said abruptly to Ivan. "Let's _go_!"

* * *

><p>Kiku furrowed his brows at the sight before him. He had helped Francis and Yong-Soo call the paramedics for Arthur, who were now accompanying the Britain as he was being whisked away to the infirmary. But the helicopter was still hovering above the tarmac, not landing, but not lifting away either; not budging, in fact. Was Alfred arguing with the pilot? Looking closer, Kiku's heart gave a lurch as he realized that this particular model of the MH-60 Black Hawk wasn't exactly familiar to him. But, no, it couldn't be possible that this wasn't a Federation-issued—<p>

Two more figures emerged from the door, and made their way down the ladder. Kiku frowned at this—Alfred was supposed to have been the last team member left. His eyes widened to the size of saucers and his body temperature felt as though it dropped several degrees. The first figure was short and clad only in what appeared to be blankets; he was sure-footed and light; his long black hair hid his face as he exited the 'copter. The second, who was following closely behind, was definitely Alfred; and there was—

Kiku heard a long, loud roar, and realized it was ripping out his own throat. His feet pounded the pavement towards the 'copter, "YAO!"

Yao broke free from Alfred's grasp and attacked. Kiku ran towards him, yanked Yao forwards by his slim shoulders and embraced the Chinese boy in a crushing hug, running his fingers through the long black hair; as his fingers reached along Yao's neck, Yao sobbed with his head tilted down into Kiku's shoulder, his own hands gliding along the Japanese man's face, outlining his lips and his eyes.

Alfred stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily speechless as he watched the two of them.

"No," Kiku was saying. As he pulled away, to look at Yao's face, Yao nearly reeled backwards in surprise. Kiku's back felt bent. Yao was shocked at how old Kiku's face seemed to have become in a matter of hours. The mouth was sharply drawn, the eyes deep with pain.

In turn, Kiku momentarily couldn't move as though still in disbelief. Yao's face was caked in grime, his nails were torn and his body was covered in cuts and filth. He took in the sight of Yao, soberly marveling how beautiful his golden eyes were, and how very sad.

"You," Yao said. His head fell against the crook of Kiku's neck, against his bare, flushed skin; inhaling the strange sweetness of chrysanthemum blossoms, Yao closed his eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

"_Where did you grow up, Yao?" _

"_We had moved to Beijing by the time I started school, but I actually grew up in the Shandong province, in Jinan City." Yao paused. "Shortly after my mother died, I remember my father gathering me up in his arms and carrying me out of the house. We left everything exactly was it was the day she died, and as we walked away from the city… not once did we look back. Eventually we made our way to Beijing. "_

"_What was your mother like?"_

"_I remember her being very, very devout. She ate no meat, never drank, and wouldn't harm a single creature, not even the ants and cockroaches that crept into our kitchen during the summers. Her parents had been raised Buddhist as well, and sometimes they would take us on their treks to visit the local temples and pagodas. Before she took sick, she had even promised to bring me to the Four Gates."_

"_Four Gates?"_

"_One of oldest pagodas in the China, possibly in the entire world. It was built during the Sui dynasty and has a Buddha sculpture located behind each of the four gates."_

_Kiku was silent._

"_It's directly adjacent to Nine-Tip Pine. It looks so simple from the outside, and made from plain quarry and mortar. You'd never guess it was impor—"_

"_I'll take you there."_

_Yao raised his head. "What did you say?"_

"_We'll go. Someday soon. I want to see it. I'll take you there-I promise."_

* * *

><p>Kiku's smoky eyes locked into Yao's golden ones, leveling at him, almost questioning. After a moment's hesitation, Yao raised his hands over his head and closed his eyes.<p>

He was literally swooped down on. Kiku stood, holding him for a moment, and carried him bridal-style to his bed. As he walked, the folds of the spare kimono draped around Yao's body came undone, and Yao buried his face in Kiku's chest as his bare sex pressed against the buckle of Kiku's belt.

Kiku claimed his mouth deeply as he lay Yao down on the bed, the robes spreading around Yao's nude body. "Please," Yao begged.

Kiku's fingers brushed against Yao's sensitive skin; Yao pleaded him to touch harder, his hands holding the Japanese man's face as Kiku pulled him forwards and entered him roughly. Kiku's mouth was everywhere, nibbling on his neck, whispering in Yao's ear, sucking on a nipple. Yao arched back, Kiku's strength supporting him, his arms moving the Chinese's body on him, until Yao cried out. His slender body shook with the force of the climax, and Kiku held him tightly, moving himself inside Yao as he released, the Chinese boy's hands reaching out for him. Kiku's mouth came down on him again, alternating between tender and cruel, finally ending on a soft kiss.

Yao fell back limp in Kiku's arms. Kiku let him lean back, never stopping his movements inside the Chinese boy as Yao draped back over one strong arm. Yao's eyes opened to see Kiku staring back at him; he watched as those smoky eyes darkened, until Kiku arched up hard and filled him. Yao reached up quickly, pulling Kiku down on him, holding him tight as the Japanese's body trembled. Yao heard a soft cry, and realized it was Kiku. He held him as Kiku released, giving everything he had, until he was finished. They lay back and Kiku wrapped him in his arms.

Kiku slept. A deep sleep that held him with its dreams of feather-soft caresses, warm lips, dark golden eyes. He floated in his dreams, unaware of Yao rising up, and casting a watchful gaze over his sleeping form.

"All good things come to an end," Yao whispered softly, stroking Kiku's dark locks. "I suppose… this must be the end."

* * *

><p>The trial was brutal, and merciful in that it was over quickly.<p>

"Look at this boy," Alfred said angrily, pointing across the room from the stand. "He is young and he is beautiful, but he is a monster. Take him to the holding cell and keep security on him at all times!"

Despite his words, Alfred was the one who roughly escorted Yao to the cell. When they were out of ear- and eye-shot, in front of the prison door, Alfred turned to Yao and placed one hand gently on the Chinese boy's face. Yao's eyes bulged in shock.

"Take that out," Alfred instructed, pointing with his other hand.

Blinking, Yao removed the tie from his ponytail, which had been tightly pulled back.

Alfred smiled, a melancholy smile. "I have always wondered what it would look like, if it were allowed to fall free."

Yao did not return the smile. Instead, he gazed blandly upwards, at the clear blue of Alfred's eyes, as if trying to blur him out from his line of vision. Alfred said, brusquely, "It's not too late. There is still time. We can still completely clear your sentence, if you would only relinquish where your Resistance family is holed up."

Yao was silent.

Alfred cocked his head. "They're everything to you, aren't they?"

"Who?" Yao replied immediately. Alfred nearly flinched at the frigid _who_. As a high-ranking Federation officer, Alfred was hated by many, and it had never bothered him before. But he knew now, more than any other thing, he wanted this boy to trust him. As he trusted the Resistance, as he appeared to feel towards Arthur. While they were standing barely inches apart, Alfred could practically feel their closeness slipping away.

"Why are you doing this?" Yao said, motioning towards Alfred's hand on his cheek.

But the American didn't understand. "A good question," he said. "I would have wanted you to come over to our side. _Arthur_ would have wanted it."

"That is impossible."

"I admit, it is disappointing. Using Kiku, and now Arthur-I hadn't expected to put up with all this fuss." He straightened his shoulders and removed his hand from Yao's cheek. "I suppose," he said, now looking Yao coldly in the eyes, "you might just be what you seem to be."

"What do I seem to be?" Yao asked.

The American man paused before answering.

"Beautiful," he finally said, and there were tremors of regret in his voice. He turned away, directing Yao into the cell; locked the door securely, and left the room.


	11. Chapter 11

The German really loved him, he was sure of it, so he whispered his name into the blond man's ear.

"What was that?"

"My name," the red-haired Italian answered, and Ludwig's face looked as if he were in pain.

"Why did you tell me?"

"Because," he whispered as he ran his fingers up Ludwig's back, "I trust you." Ludwig groaned under the burden of trust—or perhaps in the last throes of sexual ecstasy. From the window, the moonlight bathed the two young men in a transparent glazed blanket. When Ludwig finished, he ran his hands over the Italian's smooth skin, and placed one large hand gently under the chin.

"Run away with me," the Italian pleaded, for the umpteenth time.

Ludwig said nothing, only rested his arm across his eyes, keeping one hand buried in the Italian's soft auburn locks.

"Meet me at nine o' clock in the morning, meet me on Chang'an Avenue closest to north side the Square."

Ludwig's hand tightened on the silky red curls, and Feliciano let out a soft yelp as the German tilted his head back, crushing his lips against that small mouth. The petite Italian turned to his side, and they made love again in silence. Feliciano, surprised by the force of Ludwig's passion, sighed contentedly when it was over, and was kissed again. _He thinks he's kept me_, Ludwig thought bitterly.

It was all happening unbearably quickly, too much so for Ludwig to take in. They had delivered this slight, delicate-looking, red-haired Northern Italian Federation officer to seduce Ludwig at a local bar, to lure him into bed and draw secrets from him. However, they had not counted on Feliciano developing true feelings, which seemed, inexplicably, to form (practically) overnight. Ludwig had never in his life met someone so naïve, apparently harmless, unguarded and easy to read; so utterly _miscast_ as a spy. It baffled and amused him and drew him in at the same time. It was mostly that pure innocence had utterly fascinated Ludwig; had attracted him as a moth to a flame.

Perhaps they had won after all. _I am not in control of myself anymore_. As Feliciano's breathing slowed, becoming peaceful and regular, Ludwig shook his head, attempting to come to grips with himself_. No. For now, this is only for fun, only useful in releasing tension._ He opened his eyes, steeling his resolve._ I may be giving myself to this sweet, little Federation soldier in this moment—but I will __**not**__ love him_.

And once decided, it became very nearly true.

* * *

><p>There was a slight dripping sound coming from the left corner of the dank prison. Rats the size of kittens scurried along the floor and walls, occasionally running over the face of a small figure, which was crushed by chains. Yao sighed, shielding his eyes; however exhausted he was mentally and physically, there would be no sleep tonight. He had too much courage to hide from his own morbid imagination; he was readying himself for the way he would die. A man could live to be a hundred in this world. At twenty-one, he wouldn't have a quarter of that.<p>

He would only be paying for his crimes against the Federation. The most important thing was, Xiang Gang and Wan were safe.

_Dimly, Wan could hear herself babbling incoherently; gradually, it subsided, along with Xiang's dry sobs. They both clung to Yao, and Yao held onto Wan's fingers; he moved his other hand through Xiang's hair, caressing it the way his mother used to. _

_Yao kept his face stoic, while deep down his mind was in a turmoil of anguish. "Take care of each other, you hear?"_

"_Ge-ge…"_

_Wan, as blunt as ever: "Who are you to think you can do this!"_

"_You'll be all right," he said, and his voice held so much authority they fell silent. Turning towards Kiku, Yao instructed, "Make sure they take the underground pedestrian passage to the Temple of Heaven. They are not to be followed."_

His siblings' faces appeared in Yao's mind's eye. A series of images flickered before his eyes, from the time they were very small to the ghostly presence of _now_. Under Yao's guidance, they had been coached to deal with the harsh realities of life and had at times, of course, stumbled and been set back and discouraged. But they had ultimately learned to be tough, in their own ways. They had turned out so strong; Yao was certain they could take care of and protect each other.

He concentrated hard on the memories, tuning out the slight shuffling sounds that seemed to be approaching in his direction. Xiang's smile, though rare, was so bright that the memory of it brought sudden tears to his eyes.

He remembered—

And the lights went out—

"Hello there, little Emperor Wang."

CLANK, CLANK—the chains fastened around Yao's limbs jumped about violently. The Chinese boy was white as a sheet. "_Feliks_?"

The skinny Polish man beside him grinned. "Took you long enough, Yao."

Yao lifted up his arms high, in spite of the chains weighing them down, and practically flung himself at the Pole. After embracing tightly, he looked the other up and down, his heart sinking. Feliks looked a shell of his former self; Yao could count every rib on him, and when he raised his hands, there were prominent dirt lines ground deep in his palms. Tears welled up in Yao's eyes as he saw how Feliks's head was shaved, exposing a significant, discolored skin graft on the left side of his skull. If he hadn't initially recognized the distinctive green of his eyes, Yao would honestly have no idea who this other inmate was. Feliks held the Chinese boy as he sobbed. "Oh, don't be a drama queen. Cheer up," the Pole scolded in an almost playful tone.

"Where's Toris?" Yao managed to choke out, as soon as he recovered a bit from the shock.

"In the cell next to mine. They wanted to keep us separate, in an attempt to break our spirits."

Feliks held Yao's hands. "Our executions kept getting delayed due to negotiations from the Resistance side. I suspect Ivan had much to do with the negotiations—he's very persuasive when he wants to be. Now, with the hysteria surrounding Circle, we've all been but temporarily forgotten—until the Federation starts re-focusing on the Resistance again."

Yao shook his head. "It took maybe five minutes to start re-directing their efforts to weeding out Resistance groups again. Why do you think I am in here?"

"What happened, Yao?"

"He turned himself in."

Both boys jumped. The door slammed, and Feliks clamped a hand over Yao's mouth. "What do you want?" he shot at the approaching figure. As it came clearly into view, Yao pulled Feliks's hand away. He cried out and struggled to get on his feet. Kiku caught him in his embrace, the Chinese boy practically disappearing into his robes.

Without a word, Kiku bent down and took ahold of Yao's wrist. He inserted a key into the cuffs and turned it, unlocking them. He proceeded to do the same with the chains around Feliks's ankles.

"Kiku," Yao breathed. "The cell next door. Toris."

"I only have time for you," Kiku said shortly.

"I'm not leaving without Toris," Feliks said firmly.

"I'm not leaving without _them_," Yao said; Kiku's lips set themselves in a thin line. He handed the set of keys over to Feliks. "I have a spare set. Meet us at the entrance."

"Can you walk?" Yao asked.

Feliks clambered onto his feet, slowly; his face etched with pain and concentration. With a determined look, he strode over to the door, and disappeared soundlessly as he wrenched it open. Yao whirled back to Kiku. "Listen to me. Go back to the barracks. Now."

"We're getting out of here, Yao. Both of us. Don't try to stop me."

"They'll kill you!" Yao's golden eyes were round as snowballs. "I can't live in a world-"

"They were going to execute me anyway." Kiku gave him a half-grin.

"_What_?"

"You think that my bombing of the _entire Circle headquarters_ would fail to illicit the rage of the Circle sympathizers? There are many that still exist in this world, and some in very powerful positions."

"But you did what the Federation wanted to, all along! You got rid of Winter!" Yao could not believe his ears. "Wouldn't the Federation—even if they were going to bother condemning you in public- back you up behind everyone's backs? Offer you protection? You still have value to them-"

Kiku gave a hollow laugh. "Are you kidding? I'm the perfect scapegoat. Once I got killed Winter, my usefulness to the Federation came to an end. They realized that while I did, in a way, achieve their goal, I lost control of myself and took it too far… Executing me would at least appease the Circle sympathizers who hold office, who are in charge."

He paused. "Nobody wants war," he said in a low voice, as though to himself. "Stability must still be maintained. In the end, that turned out to be more important than the life of one spy."

Kiku placed his hands on Yao's shoulders. "It was thanks to Alfred's tip-off that I managed to elude arrest. Now let's go."

"We'll never-" Before Yao could protest further, Kiku silenced him, pressing his lips against his. Yao let out a gasp as the Japanese man gathered him up in his arms as though he were an infant. At first, Yao tried to fight, and then as Kiku charged ahead, he locked his slender arms around Kiku's neck, braving the jostling ride.

"Yao. I don't care. I'm not angry at the Federation. I only want to take you home," Kiku whispered against Yao's hair. "Away from all this. Away from all the politics, the Federation, from the Resistance, away from Beijing… I want us to grow old together. That is my only wish."


	12. Chapter 12

In the adjacent holding cell, Toris's head reared upwards as the door scraped open abruptly. His hair prickling at the base of his scalp, the Lithuanian let out a gasp of shock as what appeared to be a blond, shorn, living skeleton, struggled to emerge from the doorway. The figure halted once he caught sight of the other man. For a split second, they simply looked at each other; palpable silence hung tensely in the air.

"Toris," the skeletal stranger finally breathed, "We have to get going. They know I'm here."

"Who are you?"

The figure blinked, his brows furrowing deeply, which triggered a sudden pang of guilt within the Lithuanian's chest. Toris stared a moment longer, visibly struggling to make sense of the sight before him, and his mouth fell open.

"I've been praying for so long," the Lithuanian cried, as the other man knelt and unlocked the chains encircling his ankles. "And you are alive yet, Feliks!"

* * *

><p><em>Beep<em>.

"That's the distress signal," Ludwig shouted across the Resistance headquarters after glancing at his cell. Nearly all of the agents in the room dropped what they were working on and sprang into action, lacing up their boots, attaching their cells and weapons onto already loaded belts. "We're going to get the Black Hawk ready," one of them informed Ludwig, who responded with a quick nod.

In the ruckus, one agent was noticeably sitting stock-still, refusing to even look upwards to acknowledge the call. Ludwig took a deep breath. Pistol swinging from his belt, he walked over to the cryptology table in the corner.

"Ivan, get up."

No response.

"Yao needs our help."

Ivan's face set hard, and he shook his head.

"Ivan," Ludwig said, meaning to be obeyed. He spoke the words he'd rehearsed earlier in his mind that day. "You know that you still love him."

This time, the Russian opened his mouth. "No."

"Ivan, your love was never slight."

"Pardon?"

"You gave without bar, and received without caution, and just because it brought pain doesn't mean that it is gone."

Ludwig took Ivan's hand then, and led him to where the helicopter was waiting.

* * *

><p>"That American officer put some peppermints in my pocket before he locked me in that cell. I saved you a piece, Kiku. "<p>

Kiku said nothing; only hugged his elder tighter. Shouts and the blaring of walkie-talkies and ringing cell phones flared from all directions, as they skirted the hallways of the Federation prison ward.

"Think about what we're going to eat when we get out of here," Yao said, as Kiku cradled him. "I'll make ramen, dumplings, scallion pancakes, sesame balls…"

"That sounds so good, Yao."

They skillfully dodged the watchful eye of the Federation cameras stashed in various corners—both men keenly aware of their placements—and suddenly Kiku threw his coat over both of them and pushed Yao into a service elevator hallway, shielding them from sight as a group of soldiers stormed through where they had previously occupied. When the footsteps faded, Kiku pressed the top of his head to Yao's.

"Wait a few seconds," Yao breathed. "Then we'll know if they left this area."

"Do you remember when I told you the reason why I came to Beijing?" Kiku murmured against Yao's hair.

"Your brothers and sisters aced their university entrance exams but you refused to take them….you joined the Federation military instead, and was deployed here."

Kiku closed his eyes. "Growing up…there were many resources my family lacked, and we struggled to make ends meet. I had a lot of anger. And I was taught to hate you and your kind."

"Me too."

There were loud voices emulating from their immediate right. Yao recognized Francis yelling harshly, reprimanding a squad.

"But when I met you, somehow, instead," Kiku appeared to be fumbling to find the correct words. "Your _qi_, the energy you emulate, your unique perception of all the things around you…"

More harsh yelling noises; there was a sudden loud series of thuds, and an eerie silence. Yao strained to hear.

"…the way you seem to be so much older than I am, and yet so very, very young…it's changed my life, in this very short amount of time. I have become addicted. I do not have a lot of love in me, and you have pilfered what does exist."

"The very first time I realized what you truly were, an enemy agent," Yao started, "I remember only feeling surprised. Surprised at how much hate I did _not_ feel. There's the memory of pain, Kiku, but I feel no pain itself. I knew."

Kiku was silent; he only hugged Yao tighter. It was an incongruous sight, the short-haired Federation officer holding the long-haired Resistance beauty; two men who had known each other too well, and yet hardly at all.

"I knew, months ago, when we first met," Yao was saying, "I was going to fall in love with you."

* * *

><p>Outside, right next to headquarters' southern gates, the world around Alfred Jones was going mad.<p>

The American couldn't believe what was happening. The secrets were all coming out. The Federation he had believed in with all his heart and mind, for whom he had sacrificed years of his life helping to build and strengthen, was now targeting his Japanese friend for execution. Now the friend was reportedly giving up everything he had to assist that Resistance spy in escaping, and that Resistance spy was appearing to show the same loyalty to his own brethren—nothing made sense anymore. The American's faith in his own system had diminished; his self-composure, crumbling.

Alfred could not believe what he felt.

"Stop them! They're trying to scale the wall!"

"_Fire_!"

Alfred's eyes snapped alive. "NO!" he screamed, throwing up his arms, running towards the minor patrol squad whose rifles were all pointed at two small figures climbing the main southern gates. Startled at the sound of his boss's voice, the leader of the squadron flung up his hand, causing his men to balk in confusion. Alfred's head shot up in time to see the skinny form of a young Polish man struggling to hoist the Lithuanian prisoner over the wall.

That moment of confusion was all that was needed. Before the rifles could be raised again, the two prisoners vanished from sight. On the other side of the gates, Toris gave a hoarse scream as he plummeted several feet, ultimately landing securely into a tall Russian's arms. A split second later, Feliks tumbled downwards and followed suite.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Alfred immediately froze at the sound of the familiar voice. His superior's heavy boot steps punched through the frigid silence as they approached him.

"I, uh…"

"Have you gone INSANE?"

Close up, his boss's eyes looked frightening beyond belief. "Go to my office, Jones. We'll have a long discussion after I take care of this mess."

Staring his superior in the face, Alfred's mind was like a disordered room milling in panic; he mulled through all the decisions he'd made in his professional career, for ill or for good, always blatantly ignoring the ensuing implications, all for the purpose of someday stepping into this man's shoes. Then out of nowhere, it fully hit him, the personal hell he was going through from knowing that his friend-and the loved one of his friend-were both marked for death.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No, _sir_?" The American's blood pressure was skyrocketing as he tugged at his uniform, removing his badge. "Thank you for everything. Consider this my early, unexpected retirement."

Alfred immediately ducked underneath his superior's lunging arm. The man didn't bother to give chase; instead, he stood his ground and, with a wild expression, began barking orders at the completely perplexed patrol squad before him, all the while taking out his cell to scream more orders into it.

As he bolted into the main building, swarming all over with excited soldiers, Alfred's adrenaline pumped rapidly as his fingers speed-dialed a number on his own cell. "Kiku. Here is no good. Hurry over to the north gate, exit 8B. I repeat, HURRY." _Eeeeeek_—halfway through the lobby, his boots dug into the floor as he came to a screeching halt.

Two soldiers were racing towards him, their guns drawn. Alfred spat on the ground and removed the gun from his own holster. "Get out of my way!"

When they were ten feet away, the two would-be assailants suddenly dropped to the floor. Alfred kept his pistol raised as two other forms, their palms raised in the air, emerged from the hallways behind the fallen bodies. As the figures slowly came closer, the blond one nearly collapsed, and the dark-haired Asian caught him in his arms. Alfred lowered the gun and exhaled a long, shuddering breath.

"Arthur! Yong-Soo!"

"Hello, Alfred. Today's a good day to die as a traitor, isn't it?"

"That will definitely happen if we don't get out of here," Yong-Soo, who was half-dragging the Englishman, holding him upright, twisted his head around, his senses on high alert.

"What are you two—"

"Kiku and Yao are somewhere around here," Arthur was breathing very heavily; the bandages around his chest rose and fell steadily. "Francis is busy sending soldiers in totally random or wrong directions, to buy them time."

"_Votre frère est ici_," the three jumped as Francis's liquid voice materialized in the vicinity. The Frenchman limped towards them from the front of the lobby, his white-blond curls sticking to his sweaty brow. "They're catching onto me—once Alfred's boss sent out the signal, they quit following my orders. I managed to sneak away, but we need to get out of this compound. NOW."

"I suppose there's no helping Kiku or Yao if we're dead," Alfred said slowly. "But how are we supposed to get out?"

"Already way ahead of you," Yong-Soo said, holding up his cell as two identical figures appeared from their left.

"Lovino! Feli—" Lovino growled as he held a finger to his lips. Alfred clamped his mouth shut as Lovino strolled up to him. Without a word, the Southern Italian reached out and took the pistol from Alfred's belt, inciting an indignant squawk. Next to him, Feliciano stripped the others of their weapons as well. The two Italian brothers both drew out their guns and surrounded the rest of the group.

"Let's head to the northern gates, shall we?" Lovino said, nudging Alfred in the side. They all began to walk, Yong-Soo holding his head downwards in a dejected manner, as though he were under arrest. Francis and Arthur watched him for a few moments and started mimicking the demeanor.

"Get your gun out of my hip, Lovino," Alfred hissed between his teeth as the Southern Italian marched him down the hallway. Yong-Soo began half-carrying Arthur again, and kept a steady march to Alfred's right, while Francis was (somewhat) accosted by Feliciano. The small group of Federation officers drew several stares as they passed other groups of soldiers. One passing commander who appeared to be of high rank held up one hand. The group halted.

The high-ranking commander marched up to Lovino. "Where are you taking these men?"

"Interrogation, sir. They're all under arrest for displaying acts of severe insubordination." As though to drive home the point, Lovino jabbed the muzzle of the gun into Alfred's kidney.

"Alright," the commander responded after a moment, glaring Alfred in the eye suspiciously. When he disappeared from sight, the American turned to the rest of the group. "Okay. I'm not moving another inch until I get some answers. Why are you doing this? Don't you know what's going to happen to you when they find out?"

"Don't go down this hallway yet," Yong-Soo said, seeming to purposefully ignore him. "Make them think we're actually going to Interrogation. Take this left corridor, it will lead us to the northern 8B gate anyway." The Korean's head was like a compass.

The group, minus Alfred, started moving briskly towards the left corridor. "I don't hear a damn thing anymore," Francis murmured. It was true; the hallways, initially swarming with Federation personnel, now appeared to be eerily quiet, devoid of life.

There was a panting sound behind them as Alfred caught up to them. "What's in it for you to be helping me, and Kiku, and that Resistance spy?" he stressed in a more desperate tone.

"Think about it. We would have been next," Arthur muttered.

"… Because we helped Kiku implode the Circle headquarters?" Alfred sounded incredulous.

"You're not that slow after all, Jones. Of course they'd figure Kiku wasn't acting alone. We would have been framed next, since we were the last known Federation force to leave Circle headquarters right before the explosion. Maybe they wouldn't have gone after _you_, Jones, since you're the favorite—"

"—_was_—"

"Anyway, it's pretty obvious, isn't it?" Lovino interrupted with a cynical grin. "Even if we didn't care at all about our brothers, once it's clear the Federation has no problem scapegoating and sacrificing one of its own soldiers to appease the Circle sympathizers that hold lofty positions, it's only a matter of time before _we're_ on the chopping block. At the end of the day, it's about desperately trying to survive."

They were almost outside the main building. The northern gates were clearly in sight now.

"I admired him," Yong-Soo said, so quietly, that only Feliciano heard. He raised his eyebrows at the Korean, who continued, "That Resistance spy had to be the _ballsiest_ I've seen in years here."

"I'm already in disgrace," Feliciano confessed then, his voice showing a bit of a quiver. Francis turned around, giving him a quizzical look. "I told him my real name."

"Him?" Alfred asked.

"Whatever it is you did, you did it for a reason, Feliciano," Arthur said gravely.

"NO!" Yong-Soo cried out suddenly.

* * *

><p>Before the bullet could strike Kiku, Yao threw himself over the other man.<p>

("Don't bother giving them an honorable death," Alfred's superior, the leader of the amassed Federation squad-twice as large as the one that had nearly taken down Feliks and Toris-had snapped into his cell.)

But it was futile. The Federation soldiers had taken out their submachine guns, and the two were both hit, Yao in the leg, Kiku in the shoulder. They were barely a few feet from the northern gates.

"It's a damn miracle they made it that far. Finish them off," Alfred's superior ordered his troops, his voice almost deadly calm. The soldiers raised their weapons once more, the rays of the afternoon sun glinting harshly off the muzzles.

"Federation general!" Yao suddenly thundered, his face like a wounded dragon's.

Alfred's superior held up one arm, and the soldiers lowered their guns ever so slightly. "Yes, you little Resistance bastard," the superior officer said, his voice somewhat mocking, and yet also somewhat anguished.

Yao struggled to open his mouth. His limbs were deadening with every passing moment. "Tell your superiors that my death frees more rebels than it kills."

"Do you think he doesn't know it?"

"And tell them—tell them—"

A calloused palm was pressed to Yao's face, and the Chinese boy stopped calling out and bowed his head. He closed his eyes. "Kiku," he whispered.

"I love you," Kiku said, cupping Yao's face with one blood-stained hand. "And I wish… I wish…" Yao cradled his head.

"I wish I could have seen the Four Gates with you."

"Oh, Kiku." Tears spilled down Yao's cheeks, and his voice broke. "Kiku, love, there are no Four Gates."

The superior officer raised his hand again. Through a film of tears, Yao gazed outwards at the row of rifles aimed coldly towards them. He looked death in the eye and did not seem to be disappointed.


	13. Chapter 13

The quiet following the _click_ of the guns being cocked was as black as the dark beyond the farthest star from earth. And then-

"_I wouldn't do that_," an amplified, Taiwanese-accented voice broke through the silence.

Yao's head shot up.

BOO-BOO-OOOOM! _Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat!_

The burning powder and thick gray smoke hit the Federation soldiers first. Then, as though in a nightmare, stentorian popping sounds came from all directions. Despite the shooting pain, Yao's hands flew to his ears.

"What's going on!" a young soldier cried out.

"It's an ambush! Hold your fire!"

Men's shouts and wheezing, hacking sounds filled the air as thick, grainy clouds quickly surrounded them, obscuring any semblance of human vision. At the front most of the lines, the Federation soldiers practically danced as they attempted to avoid the sparking remnants of the smoke grenade firecrackers, while the soldiers behind them dodged and weaved; the formation was breaking apart fast.

"Xiang Gang," Yao coughed as the gray smoke traveled down to his lungs; waving wildly, his hands brushed up against a hard, clothed surface. The Federation soldier he had bumped into bent down and seized him. He wound one muscled arm around Yao's slim milk white throat while roughly jerking him to his feet. The Chinese boy's wounded leg protesting madly in pain; Yao struck out with his right arm, trying to push up and under the man's chin.

"_Mei maai ngaan jyuntping_," he heard a familiar voice, clear and sharp, enunciate in Cantonese. Yao's heart leapt in his throat.

A red-and-gold clad figure materialized out of the smoke, mere inches away from the Chinese boy and his assailant. He was clutching something in his fist.

"Xiang!" Yao cried out.

As though in slow motion, the figure hurled the object towards the ground.

Yao's assailant's eyes rolled back into his head as they followed the trajectory of a round, gray, cherry-sized object flying straight from the boy's fist. As the smoke-grenade firecracker exploded in his face, he released the Chinese boy, doubling over, cursing and screaming. Yao landed onto his back, choking and shielding his eyes.

"Jao!" Yao wavered in and out of consciousness as he felt a strong pair of arms safely lift him upwards. His head lolled against his rescuer's chest. "Ivan," he called out weakly, not remembering or caring that he himself required rescue, "stop—we have to get Ki—"

"_Get around them! Open the gates_!" a familiar sounding, American-accented Federation voice rang out.

It was followed by a series of loud whoops from behind them.

Surrounded by panicked soldiers who had never expected this assault on their own turf, Alfred, Yong-Soo, Francis, Arthur, and the Italian brothers flanked the once-structured squadron from multiple sides. "How'd they get in here?" a short red-haired Italian, while dogging Alfred, wondered aloud in the din, gesturing wildly towards Xiang and Ivan.

"I think you are forgetting that they are high level _spies_," someone who appeared to be his identical twin grunted in response.

In the near distance, Alfred suddenly spotted the bloodied, white-clad figure desperately trying to keep from getting trampled. "Kiku!" he called out. Alfred raced as fast as he could to the prone form, with Feliciano and Lovino following suite.

A shell exploded merely centimeters away from his head. Alfred whirled around to find himself staring his ex-supervisor in the eye. "Feliciano, Lovino, go," he directed them without looking back. As the Italians ran off, Alfred drew his weapon with slightly shaking hands, as he faced his former boss. The other man lowered his weapon. "Alfred," he said.

Alfred said nothing, only slowly lowered his rifle as the other man approached him.

"_Alfred_. Listen to me, we're friends." His superior's expression was cold and calculating; yet, the voice held a note of pleading. "Don't do this. Put down the gun."

Alfred, not trusting himself to speak, only shook his head, like a small child. It was strange; merely a day ago Alfred had been giving a speech at the main recreational hall to a new graduating class of recruits. The young recruits had lavished him with praise, saying that he was perceived as a shining example to the rest of the Federation soldiers, a cut above the rest. His reputation evidently preceded him, and the pride that had filled his chest only cemented that his Federation status meant the world to him.

"Don't you know who you are, kid? Why are you doing this—have you listened too often to the wrong people? What is it that you _want_?"

Now, suddenly, it was impossible to concentrate on any of that.

"You may be acting irrational now," his superior went on, encouraged by the lack of interruption, "but I know your loyalty remains to us. To the Federation."

At that, Alfred's mouth set in a determined line. "So soldiers and politicians are that easy to handle, to you?"

"What's that?"

"Loyalty is a gift that can only be given _freely_." Fear moved sluggishly through the American's veins, but he gave no outward indication of it. "Sir. I may be at war with myself, but you'll see that I decided this for a _reason_."

His superior gave no answer, but a little muscle jumped erratically in his jaw as Alfred kept his weapon trained at his former boss. The struggle was clear on Alfred's face as he tried to control the tear rolling down his cheek as he backed away, step by step; when he had put many meters in between them, he holstered his weapon and turned sharply.

At that moment, several things happened.

An enormous, piercing CREAK cut through the air. A hush fell over nearly each of the Federation troops as they ceased their activities at approximately the same time. At that moment, some of the soldiers began gesturing towards—

With a loud, echoing groan, the doors to the northern gates sprung to life. As though by invisible forces, they slowly swung open… from the side of the _exit._ No one uttered a word as the doors opened wider, and wider, until they had nearly reached their limit.

At first there was quiet, just quiet. And then, very faint at first, a muted roar suddenly became audible from the other side of the gates. With startling frequency, it seemed to grow louder, and louder, and louder; Alfred strained his neck upwards to glimpse the source. At the sight, he nearly reeled backwards.

There was no way Alfred could have prepared himself for the frenzied scene before him—hundreds of excited, shrieking civilians, young, old, male, female, some dressed formally for work, others in their dinner things or other various other states of garb, gathering and milling about the entrance. Alfred's eyes zipped towards the ground; the onlookers at the very front were gawking at and surrounding the fallen Federation guards who had previously been patrolling the entrance of the gates only moments before.

A huge chunk of gravel went whizzing past his ear.

"Murderers!" the hurler screamed. "Child killers!"

"Release our Yao!" came another cry. Alfred's jaw dropped. Of course, there had to be a hundred 'Yao's' in the capital alone, but—

With the gates wide open now, several of the onlookers, bearing rocks, signs, and whatever random object they happened to have on hand, seized the opportunity to try to breach into the compound. Previously struck dumb, the troops within the compound pushed forwards with their weapons drawn, attempting to stem the flood of angry onlookers and intruders rushing inside. "Seal off the perimeter!" Alfred heard his ex-superior cry. "Open fire at my signal!"

Beyond the entrance, the city zone was in utter chaos as horns blared and vehicles of all types and sizes bottlenecked every available inch of space. The cause? A sleek, black, MH-60 helicopter literally hovering in the middle of the main road, several feet above the street level. Alfred shut his gaping mouth and pumped his legs full speed towards it.

Nobody noticed as a crop of long hair, barely visible, tentatively emerged from around the corner of the gate, belonging to a Taiwanese woman who was brandishing a submachine gun. Turning around, Wan balked as a blond Englishman in a Federation uniform, looking at his cell and then back up, zeroed in on her. The Englishman appeared to be followed closely by the Frenchman and a Korean.

As he neared the woman, Arthur threw up his hands. "I was the one who sent the message! We're friends of Yao's!" Wan narrowed her eyes as Yong-Soo reached over and emptied the magazines from their guns.

"It's all right, Wan. They're with us." Wan's head swiveled in the direction of Ivan's voice. Over Yong-Soo's head, she spotted Yao being carried by Ivan, followed by the Italian brothers bearing Kiku.

"Get in," she said shortly, waving Yong-Soo, Arthur, and Francis inside the helicopter. Ivan's arms tightened protectively around Yao as he struggled up the ramp. On his other side, Lovino and Feliciano laid Kiku in the cabin as well.

"Over there! There they are!"

"GET THEM!"

Whipping around, Wan seized Feliciano by the arm and pressed the muzzle of her submachine against the hinge of his jaw. The ten-man Federation troop that had been closing in on them halted at once. "Back off, or the little pipsqueak gets it!" she snarled at them.

"She means it!" Feliciano said, as Alfred, puffing, came up to them, feeling as though his legs were about to give out.

"Jones," Alfred couldn't believe it as he turned and face-to-face with the leader of the squad—his ex-superior—once again. At that moment, a red-and-gold blur appeared right before a round object was thrown in the space between the 'copter ramp, and the momentarily stunned troops.

_BOO-OOO-OOOM_!

The smoke was just beginning to clear from Xiang's last smoke grenade firecracker as Alfred climbed into the helicopter last. He turned around one last time to glance at the Federation compound, now teeming with fighting civilians and soldiers alike, his chest throbbing deeply. As they started to rise, Alfred's superior, his eyes blazing, glimpsed the Russian and Prussian sitting side-by-side in the cockpit. "Officer Gilbert Bielschmidt," the superior grated between his teeth, choking once, "have you betrayed me too?"

"Don't break my heart, sweetheart," Gilbert grunted. "Remind me to laugh at you on my day off."

"Ivan, get us out of here!" Alfred yelled, slamming the door shut.

Amidst the ensuing hail of bullets, the helicopter lifted them up and away.

* * *

><p>"It's not life-threatening," Ludwig said, after studying the hole in Yao's leg. The ligament was torn, but the bullet had missed the major veins and artery. He had even stopped bleeding after basic first aid was applied. Yao had reached out and was now stroking Kiku gently on his good shoulder, and down his arm.<p>

"How is Kiku?" Alfred asked. The Japanese man was snoozing in Yao's lap.

"He'll be okay, too. They were both extremely fortunate. Help me change his bandages."

"It's over," Lovino was saying. "We left it all behind. We won't ever be able to go back."

"There are other places we can go," Gilbert said. "A man can always find a way to hide from his enemies."

Ivan smiled bitterly. "I have no enemies," he responded. "Only myself." He was staring at Yao stroking Kiku's arm.

"I think," Feliciano spoke up, in a tone no one had never heard him use before. The others in the cabin turned and looked at him, waiting.

The red-haired Italian seemed surprised at the sudden attention, and turned a bit shy. "I think," Feliciano said again, more slowly this time, "there's enough of us here to start over somewhere new."

"What?"

"I mean, to start our own countries."

"What?" Toris asked again. "Just the few of us?"

"Start all over," Feliciano repeated stubbornly. "No Federation, no Resistance, no old, unstable governments that haven't worked out before. No more old scars… Get it right this time. Make our own vision of the world."


	14. Chapter 14

Special thanks to: Nancylu92, .destiny, Clockeater890, and A spot of ambergris for their lovely reviews...

And of course, to **Hasegawa** XDD I love you, mei mei! Happy Birthday, sweetie!

Also a very big THANK YOU to all those who favorited, alerted, and followed this story! You guys rock! Thank you for all your support!

* * *

><p>EPILOGUE<p>

1 year later

"Is everyone present at the World Meeting today?" Alfred announced brightly under his straw hat, at the group huddled around a small beach campfire. The sea was clear and green today. "Okay good!"

"First order of business is to—"

"Figure out how to get off this island," Feliks interrupted, twirling a marshmallow on a stick.

"_I've_ got the loudspeaker!" Alfred barked at him, annoyed.

"It's only the same thing you've been saying for the past 365 days," Toris retorted, his hands now over his ears.

"Over and over!" Gilbert griped. "You sound like a broken record. And who elected you leader anyway?"

"Well, it wasn't _my_ fault that we crashed into this deserted tropical paradise," Alfred huffed by way of replying,

"_Somebody_ sneaked the vodka into my flask while I was at the controls," Ivan said, smiling.

"—which would be lovely, seeing as it's been perfectly peaceful and quiet here—save the fact that I haven't had a Big Mac in forever."

"Who needs a grease-soaked heart attack in the form of charred animal flesh between buns, when you can have PASTA!"

"No offense, Feliciano, but your Fettuccine Alfredo IS basically a heart attack on a plate."

"Wah!" Feliciano burst into tears upon hearing Yong-Soo's comment, "Ludwig, they're picking on me!"

"This is stupid. I'm working on something important," Ludwig said, poring over a sheet of paper in his hands. "You, stop whining!" he ordered in both Feliciano's and Yong-Soo's directions. The Italian and Korean both immediately clammed up.

A few meters behind the quarreling group, Yao sighed as he scratched behind Xiao Dou's ear. "Isn't it ironic? They're always like this," he murmured to her wet, black nose; at that moment, the sight of long brown hair unfolded from the corner of his peripheral vision. "Mei-mei," he said, raising his head, "did you manage to find the bamboo thicket?"

"I found it all right, and in the process got bitten by about fifty mosquitoes," Wan complained, dumping a sack full of leaves from her shoulder onto the ground. "Sometimes I wish I'd just left the fat ball of fur back at the Temple of Heaven, when we were getting ready to board the helicopter to rescue you guys." She rolled her eyes as Yao let out a small horrified shriek. "Oh, I'm totally kidding. Duh." The panda moseyed over to the sack and started sniffing.

"How are Kiku and Xiang doing on the radio?" Yao asked, blushing. "Any further progress?"

"Somewhat. They just got it to work a bit longer than the last time, which had to have been last Monday or so—"

"Then the Beijing Pact," Yao cut her off. "Is it truly…?"

"_Ge-ge_."

Yao and Wan jumped as they heard Xiang's footsteps pad closer and closer. "You might want to come listen to this," Xiang said, reaching out and grabbing his brother's arm.

Several yards away, under the shade of some young beech trees, Kiku was huddled over parts of the radio they'd managed to salvage from the helicopter wreck. The transmission sputtered to a halt as soon as Yao and the others reached him, but then crackled back to life.

"Yao," Kiku said at once, placing the wires down and getting to his feet. "It'd been working for perhaps a total of thirty-five seconds. The news has corroborated what we've been hearing so far."

"So the Pact is dissolved," Yao said, straining to listen to and make sense of the static-filled, at times hiccupping transmission.

"In the process of. They did it; they reached—the new deal is a go." Yao was motionless as Kiku stretched his legs. "The Federation and the Resistance are thus in the beginning stages of merging into a single government."

"It is likely they will start pardoning political prisoners of the old regime, who were arrested under the old President," Yao said.

"And there were no major revolts this time," Xiang added. "There's a good chance our houses are still intact. Which means—"

"We can probably go home," Wan finished.

Kiku was looking intensely at Yao, not saying a word; the shockingly lissome Chinese boy was bent over as though deep in thought. "Wan, Xiang, go on and tell the others what we just heard," he said after a few seconds. After balking a moment, Xiang and Wan turned away and headed towards the campfire.

The minute Xiang's and Wan's backs were turned, Kiku pounced. Yao felt a strong arm wrap around his shoulders, pulling him in, and another hand running down one small thigh. Their lips connected and Kiku pressed the Chinese boy roughly, as closely as he could; Yao moaned into the kiss.

Burying his face into the junction of Yao's neck and shoulder, Kiku attacked the skin there, kissing feverishly, the hand on Yao's thigh stroking upwards and downwards until Yao gave a soft cry. Kiku lifted his hand and cupped it around the gasping mouth. "You don't want the others to hear, now, do you?" His eyes narrowed a bit. "Or are you hoping, deep down, to be interrupted by a certain Brit….or Russian?"

"Ahhh!" Yao tilted his head back as the Japanese man slid the hand into his shirt and took one of the erect nipples between the third and middle finger; after pinching it violently, causing Yao to wrench forward, Kiku let go and wrapped an arm around Yao's waist. He swept the Chinese boy wholly into his arms and held him tightly. "Why did you stop?" Yao moaned.

"Yao, look at me."

Yao lowered his face and stared into Kiku's eyes; they were wet and red. The sudden passion that was present a moment ago in those pupils of obsidian was rapidly dwindling. "What's the matter?" Yao gasped.

"Are we really going to go back?" Kiku asked in a slightly trembling voice.

Recovering slightly, Yao looked down, at the white-clad arms encasing his body. "We may be needed. Besides, we can't stay here forever."

"Are you sure this has nothing to do with the others?"

"The others will definitely be needed as well—"

"You have an independent streak that I can't resist," Kiku murmured, his voice full of strong need, "but you belong to me. You're _mine_."

"You won't lose me, _Dongjing_, Tokyo," Yao replied in a small but clear voice.

"Our work will be cut out for us, and I have no intention of picking up where we left off."

"I love you, Kiku. I'm _scared_."

"Shhh."

There was a damp edge to the breeze. Kiku pulled Yao's chin towards him, leaning in to kiss; Yao broke away and gently put a hand on Kiku's nape.

"I love you," Yao said again. "And I'm being selfish. It's not just the countries we left behind that need help. There are parts of me that require healing from the others, including Arthur and Ivan."

"Don't you think I need healing too? There are ugly things in all of us, Yao."

"There are places the Federation can't help, and there are problems the Resistance itself will never be able to overcome. Don't you think that by working together, they can heal more, do more than what they could never have done on their own?" Enfolded in the Japanese man's arms, Yao turned his head towards the sunset. On the shores, Wan and Xiang were in deep discussion with Arthur, Alfred, Ivan, Ludwig, Feliciano, Romano, Yong-Soo, Gilbert, Francis, Feliks, Toris… Ludwig had in his hand something appeared to be a kind of blueprint, and was pointing at what resembled the designs of a large boat…

Yao gently removed the Japanese man's arms from around him; reluctantly, unwillingly, Kiku allowed him to do this. Yao reached out and gripped one wrist. "Come on. Let's go over to them."

Kiku gripped Yao's hand back, refusing to budge. "_Wǒ yǒngyuǎn liú_," he heard Yao say in Chinese, and his eyes widened. Yao leaned in, sealing it with a kiss; whispering in his ear, "Let's go home together."

Alfred spotted the two of them and raised his right hand, opening his mouth wide to start hollering for them to get over there. Yao squeezed Kiku's hand and, grinning, turned around and started walking briskly towards the American, who was flailing his arms around.

In a voice that may not have even carried through the sound of crashing waves, Kiku spoke to his retreating back: "My home is wherever you are, Yao."

END


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